Ink on a Page
by Remember
Summary: [Republication] Thrust back in time & into the middle of a centuries-old war between Count Dracula & the Valerious family, Hera Garret is determined to stay neutral. But when a gypsy prince & a vampire king both vie for her affection, this 21st century woman will have to choose between remaining an impartial bystander & the passions of her heart. - R&R [COMPLETE]
1. The Discourse of Unfortunate Events

**[NOTE: cover image is of Babak Fatholahi's photo "Wind of Change". Link to original in my profile. FAIR USE NOTICE: NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED. ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO ORIGINAL ARTIST.]**

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 **A DISCLAIMER & AN EXPLANATION: So I was roughly 19 years old when I wrote the original version of this story and while I had a decent amount of writing experience at that point in my life, I was still _very_ green and had _lots_ of growing to do.**

 **Regardless, I know there are quite a few of you who were incredibly fond of this story and though I'm deeply flattered that many have remained loyal to it after all these years, I would be a fool if I didn't remind you all that it has indeed been YEARS **(eight, give or take a few months) **since any of you have read it. Because of this, I feel compelled to point out that even though this story has been revamped from its initial state, the original integrity of the story and characters have remained unaltered.**

 **This is very much the** _Ink on a Page_ **my veterans will remember. A lot of it really hasn't changed much at all – it's just been scrubbed and some of the more problematic scenes and characters have been addressed, updated, and/or rewritten entirely as needed - not all, mind you. But the major ones were.**

 **Long story short, a lot of blood, sweat, tears, and sleepless nights went into this story and at long last, I am content. Is it perfect? – HA! Hell no. Not even close. There is still so much more room for growth and improvement with this story, and even if I dedicated more time to reworking certain chapters or characters, I still don't think the story could ever be truly perfect because not only is perfection such a subjective concept, but I also understand that I will never be able to please everybody** (as much as I may wish to) **.**

 **So permit me to impress the following upon you: this story is pure, unadulterated fantasy** (duh) **. I know that may seem super obvious considering this is fan fiction, but sometimes we, as readers, can get so caught up in a story, that we forget that things that are permissible in the fiction realm would never and should never fly in real life. I suppose my reason for bringing all of this to your attention is that I want you to bear in mind that this story at the end of the day – even after all the edits and changes – is a work of nostalgia. Some parts have been altered, yes, but fundamentally, it is very much as it was all those years ago. Certain characters still possess their previous imperfections and some of the subject matter is still not entirely suitable for an easily offended reader.**

 **Despite all it's many flaws, I still love** _Ink on a Page_ **. I love the history behind its origin; I love what it stood for, for me as a writer then and now – the good, bad, and still downright humiliating. This story is a piece of my history. It means so much to me and though I'm worried about disappointing some and offending others, I hope the majority of you will love it now just as much as you did back then. Flaws and all.**

 **ONE LAST NOTE** (aka: me covering my own ass) **: When I originally wrote this story almost a decade ago, I had been in the middle of my romance-novel recreational binge-reading phase. Because of that, there were a small handful of scenes that** (if I remember correctly) **were directly influenced or inspired by what I was reading at the time. Since then, I've tried to identify and remove the stuff that isn't entirely mine, but on the off-chance that I missed anything** (and I don't think I did, but just in case) **–** if you see anything you recognize, it's probably not mine and I _do not_ take credit for it. **Please don't sue.**

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 **THANK YOUS: to** _sleepy bibliophile_ **for being an amazing beta. As always, you've proven to be immensely helpful and I can't thank you enough. To** _Roux Barcelone_ **for your excellent suggestions and your continued forbearance with my occasional bouts of insecurity and anxiety. To** _RegencyPoet_ **and** _TheFemaleHistorian_ **for being massively supportive when I needed it most and for just** _ **getting**_ **it. You have absolutely no idea how validating that is for me.**

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 **OVERALL STORY RATED "M" FOR: sexual content and situations, suggestive themes, strong language, and vampire violence/gore.**

 _Will leave the rating at "T" for the first bunch of chapters, for the sake of story visibility; then I'll bump it up when things start getting more… heated._

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 _ **I dedicate the republication of this story to you, my dearest readers.**_

 _ **To the ones who have been with me since I first started posting in 2005 and to those who stuck around even after I quit in 2010 with every intention of never coming back.**_

 _ **I may write for myself, but I'd be lying if I said that a part of me didn't do this for you as well.**_

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 _ **Ink on a Page**_

"Only love of a good woman will make a man question every choice, every action. Only love makes a warrior hesitate for fear that his lady will find him cruel. Only love makes a man both the best he will ever be, and the weakest. Sometimes all in the same moment."  
\- Laurell K. Hamilton, _Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter -_ _The Harlequin_

 **I**

 _ **The Discourse of Unfortunate Events**_

Hera smacked the keys of the piano in frustration. Placing her brow atop her folded arms resting on the fallboard, she exhaled heavily as the discorded notes echoed in the belly of the instrument, falling silent when she finally lifted her foot off the pedal. Naturally auburn hair that had been recently dyed a vibrant marmalade hue spilled over the young woman's shoulders. She idly observed the curled ends of her ringlets as they brushed against the brilliant ivory keys beneath her.

For the life of her, she could not focus.

Usually, Hera could take whatever it was that was bothering her and shove it into some remote corner of her mind, allowing her to carry on with her usual work. Had she not been so distracted, she'd be in the estate library now, drowning in her third doctoral dissertation, this one surrounding a variety of elements pertaining to the rise and fall of the Ottoman Empire.

But who was she kidding? She had barely touched the research in the last couple of months, far too enthralled in her recent side-projects, including her study of the wild and untamed areas of the eastern European region, more specifically the Transylvanian and Wallachian rulers, like the infamous Vlad Țepeș, or Vlad Drăculea of the house of Drăculești.

Having spent the last two months in that corner of the continent, Hera found herself wishing she had just stayed in Romania instead of returning home to her native country of England. Although she had been pleased to see her father, the world-renowned academic and historian, Sir Henry Garret, the news she had received upon her arrival from her best friend, Hailey Stevens, was news she could have gone without.

Still resting her head on her arms, Hera glanced over at her only other friend in the world outside of Hailey – her Northern Inuit, Isis. Isis, though technically the family pet shared between Hera and her father, had always preferred its mistress to its master. The dog hadn't left Hera's side since her return from her travels, and with the disappointing news Hera had received after coming home, she was secretly grateful for the silent and ever loyal company.

"You knew from the start, didn't you, girl?" Hera asked the canine, unable to keep from smirking when the dog's ears perked up before it tilted its head as though it were listening. "You were always a better judge of character than I was."

Straightening her posture and closing the fallboard over the keys, Hera finally stood, exiting the family music room with Isis following close behind as she entered the library in search of her father.

The estate library was the most handsome room in the entire house, its collection extensive, with two small studies and even an armory attached. More often than not, Hera and her father spent the majority of their time in this part of the house, and though Hera soon recalled that her father had gone out to lecture at a neighboring university and wouldn't be back until tomorrow evening, there was still something very comforting about being surrounded by hundreds of thousands of books.

She ran her long fingers over some of the spines as she passed, her observant honey colored eyes fixed on the view of the gardens just outside as her unusually sharp mind tormented itself with the sad and nagging truth of the grim job that had to be done this afternoon.

Hera Kali Garret had never been particularly lucky in the ways of love. In her twenty-five years of life, each and every one of her relationships had ended in some kind of disaster. She had been betrayed and used more times than she cared to count and her present relationship with one Thomas Prichard was on the verge of coming to an unpleasant end.

A despondent sigh slipped past her lips in a rush of hot air as she paused in her walk to lean against the pane of one of the windows.

Thomas had cheated on her while she had been away, and though in retrospect, she should have seen the signs, she could not excuse his behavior. He knew how much her studies meant to her, and he had had no issues in supporting her in the past so why had that suddenly changed? Did absence really not make the heart grow fonder as Hailey had insisted? Two months was indeed a long time to be separated from a person, but Hera had tried to call Prichard when she could and he had always appeared understanding.

The only logical explanation Hera could come up with was that Thomas had fallen out of love with her long before her trip to the continent, and, as usual, she had been too naïve and too unwilling to see the truth staring her in the face. She had been so determined to see the best, that she had made herself willfully blind to the worst, and it had left her hurt. Again.

"This really needs to stop, Isis," Hera said aloud with a defeated sigh as she glanced down at her attentive companion who licked her hand in reply. Hera crouched down so she could be at eye level with the dog, her fingers running through the short, dense coat.

"I thought we were working, Thomas and I," she continued, ignoring how the dog growled softly at the sound of the young man's name. "I mean, he's not an ideal candidate – his knowledge really only extends so far, and though he was kind enough, I could never really have a deep or intellectually stimulating conversation with him outside of his dissertation. I can't believe he was using me for my brain."

Isis moved in closer to Hera as she slumped down, sitting on the floor with her back against the window, the dog resting in the young woman's lap as she idly stroked her fingers through the dark fur, blinking back tears.

"I don't know if I can keep doing this, Isis," Hera whispered. "Why doesn't anyone want me for me? What's wrong with me?"

Before the shroud of despair could fully dominate her thoughts, the faint ringing of the doorbell caught her attention. Isis immediately perked up, standing and barking when the bell rang once more. Hera could hear the butler answering the front door and the voice of an all too familiar male reached her ears.

She visible cringed at the sound.

"François! Still working here, I see."

"What can I do for you, Mr. Prichard?" the butler asked with barely restrained disdain. Hera stood and after quickly regaining her composure and wiping a tear or two from her face, she made her way out into the hall and towards the main stair.

"I'm expected, your majesty. Hera said she had something for me. Is she in?"

"I'm terribly sorry to disappoint, Mr. Prichard, but Miss Hera is in the music room and asked not to be disturbed," François explained in his overly thick French accent.

François had been with Hera and her father for as long as she could remember and had always been more of an extension of the family than an actual butler. Unfortunately, because of his upbringing, Thomas Prichard had a nasty habit of treating people like they were beneath him, and despite Hera's attempts over the last year or so to correct his behavior, he and François had never taken too kindly to one another.

That, and the fact that Isis had hated him from the get-go should have been evidence enough for Hera to begin with.

Perhaps then she could have avoided the up and coming unpleasantness?

"Look, I get that she's been busy since she got back from her trip, but could you at least let her know I'm here?" Thomas continued. "If you were listening, you would have noticed that I had said I am expected. She has something for me and asked that I pick it up this afternoon."

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Prichard, but that just won't be…"

"It's quite all right, François," Hera interrupted as she turned the corner and descended down the stairs toward the front foyer.

Her eyes fell upon the young man standing in the doorway, the light from outside flooding into the house behind him. Her gaze caught his, and her lips twitched into a slightly devious grin as she rapidly compartmentalized her present emotions, choosing to indulge in a desire for revenge over the temptation to be irrationally sensitive. She could despair over him and her woefully pathetic lack of a love-life later.

"Thomas and I have a few things we need to discuss," Hera explained. "I'll take it from here, François. Thank you."

The butler glanced over at the young man still standing in the doorway with an expression of unease and he flashed a knowing look over to Hera who smiled at him reassuringly, even with Isis growling low beside its mistress.

"Very well, Miss Hera."

"And can you take Isis with you? I'll come fetch her when we're done here."

"Of course," and he excused himself from the foyer, the dog begrudgingly following behind as Hera stopped at the foot of the stairs, her eyes still locked on Thomas.

"I take it you're here for your paper?" she asked him. Thomas placed his hands in his pockets and took a few steps towards her.

"The one for Doctor Carins' forensic psych class. You've got it?"

"It's in the parlor," she explained, motioning for him to follow, to which he immediately obeyed, trailing behind as they made their way into the east wing of the house.

"I can't thank you enough for writing that paper for me, Hera," Thomas replied. "That trip with my father and step-mom was just something I could not get out of. You've saved my ass from Carins' rod once again."

Little did he know of the scheming grin marring Hera's features and it was only continuing to grow wider as they neared their destination.

"Don't thank _me_ , Thomas," she replied, opening the door ahead of her and entering into the darkened room. When she knew he was in eyeshot of where she was standing, she picked up the essay and handed it to him. "Here you are! Thirty pages of extensive analysis and there's even a title page. I made sure to include the list of sources you provided me before your trip. I trust everything is well with your family?" and Thomas took the essay from her, not even bothering to check it.

"Yeah, of course. They're all fine."

"That's surprising, given the circumstances."

"The circumstances?"

"Didn't you say your grandmother had passed away?"

"Oh, yeah, that's right, she did. I'm sorry… I've just been kind of out of it since the funeral. You know…" he managed, obviously lying.

Oh, the temptation to call him out here and now, but if Hera was anything, she was in control of herself, and she swallowed back her rage and her disappointment, continuing to smile pleasantly up at the man who had broken her heart.

He hadn't gone to his grandmother's funeral. His grandmother was still alive in a convalescent home somewhere in the states. Hera knew the truth, and just the thought gave her enough fuel to channel her disappointment into something that was borderline rage.

"I believe that's everything," she queued.

Thomas glanced at the title page and smiled in satisfaction.

"You're a life-saver, babe," he said, clearly relieved and he placed the essay down on the table.

"Isn't that why you're dating me?" she asked him with faint traces of acid in her tone.

But Thomas never noticed. He was much too distracted by the lovely curvature of her breasts in that fitted top she was wearing. The young man flashed her a charming smile before he shut the parlor door, leaving them in the secluded darkness. There was just enough natural light in the room so Hera to see the husky look in his eyes.

"That's not the only reason," he replied lustfully, making an advance.

Hera, though internally repulsed, had learned to play this game very well over the years and she smiled seductively up at him, running the collar of his shirt between her fingers with convincing thoughtfulness.

"Would you care to _explain_ the other reasons?" she asked.

"Why use words when this works so much better?" was Thomas' reply and he grabbed Hera by the arms and placed a bruising kiss on her lips.

She groaned softly as she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back as he led her over to the closed door, pushing her against it so he could wantonly press his athletic body into hers. His hungry hands ran all over the well-known territory and the sensation of her clothed flesh beneath his palms excited him thoroughly. He shoved his tongue into her mouth and she let him, knowing fully well that it would be some time before she would ever be kissed again.

She tangled her fingers through his thick, golden locks, pulling his mouth closer, feeding his hunger, sating his thirst – something she had become so very good at. He licked her mouth like some kind of animal as he panted for air, resting his forehead against hers.

"When was the last time we had sex?" was his forward inquiry.

Hera had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

The man that had cheated on her was suddenly so eager to get between her legs – how classic.

"The night after you finished your midterms," she answered breathlessly, recalling the torrid affair with perfect clarity. He buried his face into the column of her neck and she felt the firm pressure of his wet lips against her skin.

"That was weeks ago. I think we're overdue, darling," and he jutted his hips forward so she could feel the swell of his crotch against her abdomen.

Hera rolled her eyes.

Oh the nerve of this _boy_!

In an effort to keep her rapidly heating temper in check, she forced out a throaty laugh, and playfully pushed him away from her.

"Not in my father's house, tiger," she chuckled.

Thomas grabbed her hand and kissed it avidly. He was a charmer – persistent, and one of the most, if not the most dangerous type of men.

"You call me with the date and time, and I'll pick the place."

She smirked and withdrew her hand, handing him his essay.

"I'll think about it," she promised.

He kissed her on the lips one last time before leaving the parlor, paper in hand.

"Thanks, Hera! I owe you another one!" he called as he bee-lined for the exit, suddenly eager to leave.

Hera followed after him slowly, the wickedest of grins on her face as she watched the front door shut behind him. She then sat down at the foot of the stairs, a look of mischievousness still playing in her eyes as François entered the room, Isis following close behind. The butler sent her a curious expression.

" _What are you up to_?" he asked her in French. Hera glanced down at the delicate watch around her wrist to check the time.

" _Revenge is a beautiful thing_ ," was all she said, her accent perfect, and the response was all François needed to hear. He chuckled quietly to himself before leaving the foyer again and Hera continued to watch the door, Isis seated obediently beside her.

Meanwhile, Thomas had gotten into his car after dancing around with his paper. He tossed it onto the passenger seat after kissing it and quickly reached for his mobile as he started up the car, peeling out of the driveway.

"Hey Vick? Yeah… I got it. I told you I would. She's so bloody oblivious, it's almost sad… No, she doesn't suspect a thing. She's still as wrapped around my finger as she was before she left for Romania…. Oh yeah. I'll be laying her before the week is out… I know you don't like it, but I need her if I'm going to get in good with Carins when it comes time to defend my thesis. One word from Hera, and I'd never pass and father would murder me, or worse – I'd be disinherited…. Nah, she can't resist me…. I know. I'm her prince charming and as long as I stay that way, I'll practically have her writing my dissertation for me…"

Thomas grabbed hold of the paper that Hera had written for him as he continued to drive and talk at the same time.

"Huh? Oh yeah – Professor Carins has no idea. That sadistic dominatrix just thinks Hera's rubbing off on me. Stupid whore. I swear to God, she's…"

Thomas stopped mid-sentence as he slammed on the brakes and stared in shock at the essay Hera had written for him. The only problem was it wasn't an essay on forensic psychology. In fact, on every single page – all thirty of them – was the message:

 _I'm not your slave and I'm not your whore. We're through, bastard. Tell Vick, or should I say_ Victoria _, that I said hi and that her dear husband, who also happens to be your father, should be expecting a package in the mail with some very interesting pictures by the end of the week. Rot in Hell, Thomas Prichard_.

He swore wildly and threw his phone on the floor of the car before violently flipping a sharp and illegal u-turn as he sped back towards Hera's house. The tires screeched in protest as he came to a sudden stop and he flew from the car, enraged.

"HERA!" he yelled, marching towards the front door of the estate. "HERA, YOU BITCH!"

Thomas went to reach for the handle of the front door to help himself inside, but before he could even touch the polished brass, the door flew open and a loud _crunch_ followed by a stabbing pain shot through the front of his face. He stumbled back rather ungracefully, tripping over the stairs of the front entrance and landing flat on his back.

Little black spots danced before his watering eyes and when his vision finally cleared he saw Hera in the doorway, towering above him, eyes filled with an eerily controlled rage, her clenched fist stained in his blood. Isis was standing beside her, the large dog growling in his direction, brilliant white teeth bared.

He wasn't quite sure if he was more afraid of the animal that was clearly eager to tear his face off, or the redheaded woman beside it, glaring daggers in his direction.

Thomas touched his broken nose gingerly and winced in pain as he felt the blood ooze from the wound she had created.

"Something wrong, dearest?" she taunted sadistically.

"What the actual fuck, Hera? What did I ever do to you?"

The woman let out a hollow bark of a laugh as she moved down the front steps toward him, openly relishing in how he cowered back slightly, afraid she'd hit him again, or that she'd sick her dog on him.

"Where would I even begin?" she drawled, and she held up her fingers so she could visibly count off his offenses. "You used me to improve your GPA. All of those what I had assumed were intellectually based conversations were merely a ploy to get me to tell you exactly what to write and what to research for your courses. You manipulated me. You didn't even ask for my help, you just lied and took what you could."

Isis barked once as if to support the claim and Hera continued, revealing a second finger.

"Next offense – you slept with your _step mom_ , Victoria, while I was in Romania. When Hailey caught you cheating, you tried to use your father's money and your name to threaten her into silence, so technically that's now three counts against you."

Hera took another step toward him as he began to crawl backwards on the driveway towards his car, Thomas' eyes bouncing back and forth between the terrifying hound and the woman he had foolishly jilted.

"I thought you were a decent man, but oh did you have me fooled! You're nothing but a leech, a womanizing chauvinist, and a lousy lay. You have a revoltingly unfound superiority complex, no honor, no integrity, and no brains. In short, Mr. Prichard, I have 'seen the light' and I'm through with you. Is that clear enough, or perhaps I should let Isis translate it for you?"

The dog snarled and barked twice in warning, and the two watched as Thomas staggered to his feet, leaning against his car for support.

"Babe, let's talk about this," he insisted, although he could tell this was one battle he'd never win. "Look, fine, I'll go. But don't send those pictures to my father. He'll disinherit me, Hera."

"Which is exactly what you deserve!" she shot. "You're lucky I don't contact Professor Carins and inform her that your work isn't even your own. Or would you rather I did that?"

"You have no proof!"

"I am Henry Garret's daughter. I don't _need_ proof. My word is better than your daddy's money."

"You bitch! I swear to god, I'll…"

"You'll _what_ , Prichard?" she mocked. "You're powerless in this, _babe_. Every professor in that university is my ally. Are you sure you want to go up against _me_?"

Isis barked again and Thomas cowered back.

"Now then, get your pompous ass off my property or I'll break something else besides your nose," Hera hissed. "Isis! Escort Thomas off the grounds."

The dog began to run towards the young man, who instantly jumped into his vehicle and sped away, even as the dog chased after his car, leaving nothing but a trail of dust clouds behind him.

When he was gone, Isis began to run back to her mistress, all tongue and wagging tail as Hera patted her on the head, rewarding her with a treat and a "good girl." But even with Prichard long gone, Hera's moment of triumph rapidly deteriorated into a debilitating sense of grief as she recalled how she had been used and disappointed once again.

She had allowed herself to be vulnerable, and then deceived, and she couldn't deny just how much the whole thing hurt, even if she was happy to be rid of Thomas.

And when the depression hit a few hours later, as it usually did, it was hard and unforgiving.

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The clock struck six in the evening, the chimes echoing soothingly though the dimly lit house as rain gently pummeled the roof of the estate. Henry Garret had the summer off from teaching, but right now he wished he could be back in Oxford in a classroom full of eager young students. The prospect was infinitely superior to the woes and hormones of his depressed adult daughter.

He had heard the infamous tale of what had taken place two weeks ago and although he was overjoyed that Hera had finally put an end to any relations with that unworthy boy, it was hard to see her so dejected. Every relationship she had ever had had ended rather nastily, and this had to be the epitome of them all.

Exactly two days after the break-up, Hera had locked herself in her room, going through her ritual of binge ice-cream and chocolate eating and oppressively romantic movie after oppressively romantic movie. The Austen novels weren't helping either.

She was falling to pieces and there wasn't much that he as an aged, widowed father could do, outside of hiring a hit man to settle Thomas Prichard in for the long sleep, but as that was out of the question, it was time to call the reinforcements.

It had been a challenge, raising a daughter all on his own for the last two decades and it was moments like this that he missed his dearly departed Catherine, as well as his eldest daughter, Athena, who had passed shortly after the death of her mother. It had been a terrible year, losing two of the three most important females in his life, and though the journey of surviving the grief had been a difficult one, Henry Garret had always been grateful to have his Hera there beside him.

He looked down at his watch. It was six-thirty now and the moment he looked up, he heard the desired knock on the front door. François opened the door and Henry couldn't help but smile when his eyes fell on the young woman standing in the entryway.

"Hailey Stevens, thank _God_ you are finally here!" he proclaimed as the girl stepped inside.

Hailey was a full-blooded American, her stepmother having dragged her back and forth between the long-divorced countries when she was a young teen. She had met Hera at a renaissance faire outside of London and the two had been thick as thieves ever since.

Mr. Garret, at Hera's proposal, had helped to pay for Hailey to stay in London to attend school at Kingston. He had also assisted the young woman in obtaining a scholarship to pay for school expenses, which left Hailey to earn her living expenses via tutoring history three days a week and bartending on the weekends.

Despite her impressive understanding of anthropology and ethnic studies, Hailey Steven's was the epitome of the phrase "appearances can be deceiving."

On the outside, she was still holding onto her more teenage gothic sensibilities, but with Hera's softer influence, Mr. Garret had come to look at Hailey's purple hair with a kind of genuine approval. The girl had an obsession for Victorian lace, leather, and corsets, and though Mr. Garret wasn't entirely thrilled with some of the American's fashion choices, she had always been an excellent companion for his daughter.

"Good evening, Professor Garret," Hailey replied politely, stepping out of the rain and handing her slightly damp jacket to François when he offered to take it. "How is she?"

"Does the phrase, 'she hasn't left her room in two weeks' mean _anything_ to you?" he asked her a little incredulously.

Hailey chuckled and patted the old man on the shoulder before heading upstairs.

"It means infinitely more than you assume. So you don't mind then if I kidnap her for a week or two?"

Henry sighed heavily.

"I don't care what you do. Just… fix her, Hailey!"

The girl laughed as she turned the corner and headed down the familiar hall towards Hera's bedroom. When she reached the correct door, she knocked with purpose.

"Go away," came Hera's rather melancholic response.

Hailey rolled her eyes and opened the door to find her friend curled up on her bed, dressed in sweat pants and a tank-top, her laptop propped up by a few books with an assortment of romance novels, an empty gallon tub of ice cream, a few half-eaten boxes of chocolates, and several stacks of period dramas on DVD.

The woman was damn lucky she had the digestive talents of a goat.

Hailey leaned against the doorway and sent Hera a disapproving look.

"Hera, you promised…" she began, but the woman just ignored her, tears tumbling down her flushed cheeks, eyes swollen from all the crying she had done as she continued to watch the movie _Somewhere In Time_.

Hailey huffed at the sound of Jane Seymour's character, Elise McKenna, screaming for her lover as he was pulled back to 1980 and out of the year 1912. The scene only seemed to make her friend worse as she covered her face with her pillow and moaned.

"I want to die!" Hera wailed pathetically. "Why does it always have to be me, Hailey? Why?"

Hailey ignored the young woman's cries as she marched over to the windows and threw them open, airing out the stuffy room and letting the smell of rain wash out the pungent stench that had been festering.

"Hera, I told you Thomas Prichard was bad news, but you were so smitten by him, I wasn't going to press you. You should have seen it coming, but you didn't. God, you're too trusting, hon!" and she sat down on the edge of her friend's large bed, picking up one of the untouched truffles and popping it into her mouth.

"Hailey, I seriously thought there was something there," Hera sighed heavily and she sat up and watched as her best friend ate. "I mean, even if most of our intellectual conversations came out of him fishing for information on his school assignments, it was so nice to momentarily connect and debate with someone who isn't three times my age, and there were instants when we just really clicked. Like when we talked about philosophies on life and love and he'd quote Shakespeare and Byron…" Hera sighed heavily, lost in her reminisce.

"Anyone who has access to the internet can quote some Shakespeare, hon, or misquote it like he did."

"The sex wasn't _that_ bad either," Hera continued. "Actually, sometimes he was really nice, when he wasn't totally plastered."

Hailey cringed.

"I am so not drunk enough to be having this conversation with you."

"He wasn't a bad kisser, either. I miss being kissed."

"Hera, you really need to stop thinking about this guy. He _cheated_ on you. And to add insult to injury, he had sex with his mom."

"Step-mom," Hera corrected.

"Either way, that's disgusting. I swear to God, that guy had an Oedipus complex."

Hera made a face.

"He did not."

"Oh yes he did," Hailey snorted, pushing the chocolates aside as if doing so would remove the temptation. "Guy apparently has a thing for the cougars."

Hera's face distorted in disgust.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah… and from what I heard around campus, his old man is like a geezer – we're talking Ebenezer Scrooge status. Older than your father, and that's saying something."

"My father is only in his late sixties, Hailey. He's not _that_ old…"

"Well, Victoria is in her early thirties and she looks like she jumped out of a porno. I'm telling you, hon, we all saw this coming and we all warned you. When are you going to realize that most of the guys around here only want you for your body and not your brains and sparkling wit? The majority of the male species are jerks anyway – they're good for one-night stands and rebounds to bad relationships and that's about it."

"That's not true."

"Okay, fine, so maybe there's a small handful of chivalrous knights still around, but until one shows up in your foyer downstairs to sweep you off your feet, then I stand by what I said earlier. So," and she clapped her hands together suddenly after snapping the laptop shut, "as your best friend, I'm going to do what's best for you since you clearly can't do so on your own."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm kidnapping you."

"You're what?" Hera asked as she watched Hailey get off the bed and move over to her closet to pull out some clothes, soon shoving them into a duffle bag.

"Your dad asked me to kidnap you for a week or two and not to return you until you're completely cured."

"And where exactly are you going to be taking me?"

"You'll be staying with me in London – that means no books, no music composing, no studying, no dissertation… no nothing. Only copious amounts of alcohol and sweaty night clubs."

Hera's eyes widened in shock.

"I can't even read recreationally?"

"Nope. The only thing you're allowed to do is watch some good action flicks with bountiful amounts of violence and gore, and if we're not watching movies, we're clubbing. Kapeesh?"

Hera rolled her eyes.

"Hailey, I just got back from Romania a few weeks ago. I can't just up and leave my father and Isis here alone in this house!"

"This was your father's idea."

"Well, I love him, but he's completely out of his mind," Hera stated in a matter-of-fact fashion. But her friend only grinned as she grabbed Hera's wrist and with a nice tug, she had pulled her off the bed and began leading her towards the door.

"Well, I'm determined to convert you to the dark side of the force. I've got my work cut out for me, I know, but we'll have Prichard out of your head in no time," Hailey announced. "Now come on. We have a long drive ahead of us," and she dragged Hera down the hall towards the stairs were Mr. Garret was waiting in the foyer with Isis at his side.

"You two off, then?" he asked casually.

Hera rolled her eyes as Hailey continued to drag her toward the door.

"She's kidnapping me, Papa. Quick. Call Scotland Yard," she muttered dryly.

"Even her sarcasm is passionless!" Henry proclaimed. "Hailey, I don't want her back until you have restored her to her regular self, you understand me? I don't care how long it takes. Spare no expense!"

Hera flashed her father a sweet smile and he kissed her cheek affectionately.

"See you in a few weeks," Hera said as Hailey pulled her out into the rain towards the waiting car. "And don't forget to walk Isis! Or she gets really antsy!"

"I know how to take care of a dog, Hera, now go!"

"I love you!"

"I love you, too."

Mr. Garret then watched as Hailey drove away with his daughter and into the night. Little did he know of the change she would undergo in her time away, and how just a week away from home would be more like two years.


	2. Dream or Reality?

**And here's another chapter for you! ENJOY!**

* * *

 **II**

 _ **Dream or Reality?**_

The music was loud, with its pulse-pounding beat and obscene lyrics, a strange soundtrack for the vision of lights flying by and reflecting off the glass of the windshield in colors so bright, it made her head ache. The pungent stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke burned the hairs in her nostrils and if it hadn't been pouring outside, she would have rolled down the window for some fresh air.

Hera could still feel the throbbing pulsations on her lips, the hands of that all too friendly stranger having left their imprints on certain areas of her body where he had touched.

That was the _last_ time she was evergoing to go clubbing. _Ever_.

Hera turned down the music so she could concentrate better on the road ahead of her. Hailey was out anyway. She looked over at her friend, clad in a scantily designed dress, the girl's purple hair matted to her face. But at least she got to sleep off the round of shots she had done at the start of the evening.

Hera sometimes hated being the designated driver.

How she'd love to just drink her troubles away, enjoy a night of nothing but worry-free adventures, drowning her depression – that empty feeling gnawing at her insides – in the darkness of the night. But alas, Hera had never had much in common with the frequently amoral and decadent youth of her generation, and if she sat down and thought about it long enough, what they had wasn't what she truly wanted in the first place.

Hera had never really been like everyone else, as much as she may have tried in the last couple of years to appear so. If she was being honest with herself, outside of a shared fascination for academia and specific genres of music, she and Hailey were more dissimilar than alike, and living with that knowledge had always been a bit difficult. It made her feel alien in her own skin and so terribly lonely.

To make matters worse, Hera found it exhausting, trying to be in a real, genuine relationship. Finding someone compatible to her had been a pursuit that had wound up painfully fruitless, especially in the last decade of her life. There was no one out there that she had yet met who could meet her unintentionally high standards – someone whose intellect surpassed her own, someone who challenged her, and yet adored her; a man with wit, talent, passion, ambition, experience…

Hera stared off into space as she drove the familiar streets of London to Hailey's flat, lost in her thoughts.

Why was it so hard for her to maintain a lasting relationship with someone who wasn't her father or her best friend? She chuckled slightly to herself – oh, she had her suspicions, a secret fancy that maybe she had been born in the wrong era. Perhaps she just didn't belong in this day and age. She shook herself of the thought the moment it entered her mind.

 _No Hera_ , she thought. _Stop it. You don't belong in the past. You are where you are for a reason._

"Then why do I feel so empty?" she asked herself softly.

"Huh?" Hailey groaned as they pulled into the parking lot beneath the apartment complex.

"We're home, Hailey," Hera explained after parking the car.

Hailey mumbled something incoherent as she rubbed her face and managed to unbuckle her seat belt, fumbling her way out of the vehicle.

"Really?" she slurred as Hera climbed out, shutting and locking the car door behind her while grabbing Hailey's arm to support her before she could trip and topple over her own feet.

"Yes. We're going to go upstairs and you're going to go straight to bed," Hera replied, her tone even as if she were saying it out of routine.

After some difficulty and a few weird remarks from a very drunk Hailey, they finally made it up to her flat. Hera led the woman to the bedroom and the moment her friend hit the mattress, she was asleep, deforesting entire continents at a time.

Hera rubbed the back of her neck after shutting the door behind her.

What a night it had been!

She glanced at the clock on the microwave and then groaned at the sight. It was three in the morning and though she was tired, she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. Her brain was still running a hundred miles an hour. The young woman shrugged in defeat, grabbing her army-green zip-up hoodie, putting it on over her black tank top.

After making herself comfortable on the sofa, she fished her iPod out of her bag on the coffee table before reaching for the remote to the TV, flipping channels idly in the dark while simultaneously shuffling through her music. She did this for what felt like an age, hundreds of images made up of billions of tiny colored pixels flashing before her eyes in rapid succession, the television on mute as she listened to a Kodály cello sonata.

Hera soon shoved the iPod into the pocket of her sweatshirt as she continued to channel surf for a couple of minutes, and then she gave up, turning off the television and tossing the remote onto the floor as she sat up from her lounging position.

Pulling the ear-buds out of her ears, she placed them in her pocket before burying her face into her hands, the deafening silence and maddening solitude making her depression worse. Feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt plagued her in the darkness of the flat, coiling around her chest and tightening as she felt another round of tears beginning to burn in her eyes.

"Why, God?" she whispered softly into the palms of her hands. "Why me? Why can't I just be normal like everyone else? Why can't I have a _real_ relationship with someone who really loves me? Someone who'd…" but she stopped and let out a long breath, staring blankly in front of her. "Why do I feel like I don't belong? Like a piece of me is missing? Why do I feel so broken, so defective, so… _unwanted_?"

Hera looked at the window of Hailey's apartment and out at the full moon partially obscured by thick, ominous clouds that threatened rain.

"If you're real, God – give me a sign. Show me the missing piece of my soul. Help me understand. Show me. Tell me in some way who I am meant for. Am I meant for anything? Anyone? Or am I doomed to a life of being alone? Please say it isn't so," and she pressed her fist against her mouth, trying to get better control over her emotions. "Please don't leave me in the dark. _Show_ me…"

Hera then waited in the quiet for several long minutes, the sound of thunder rolling in the clouds outside as another storm threatened to siege the sleeping London. She waited and waited, and at long last, Hera gave up.

Exhaling loudly in defeat, she stood.

"Maybe the atheists are right," she grumbled bitterly and she moved around the sofa.

She was about to head into the hall that led to the guest bedroom when suddenly something odd caught her attention.

" _Success!"_

" _Oh Count, it's just you."_

" _I was beginning to lose faith, Victor…"_

Hera turned to face the television, noticing how the movie _Van Helsing_ had just… turned itself on?

She made a face as she moved back to the couch, too puzzled to find the remote and turn the television off. After all, she had always kind of liked this movie. Sure, it completely abandoned the original mythos of especially Stoker's and Shelley's monsters, but it was entertaining as hell.

Hera hadn't watched it in what felt like years and Van Helsing and even the gypsy prince Velkan were awfully nice to look at. But she had always had a soft spot when it came to Count Dracula. The man was gorgeous – even his silent conceit was attractive.

" _A pity your moment of triumph is being spoiled over a little thing like… grave robbery,"_ the Count answered sardonically and Hera couldn't help but smile.

She loved this portrayal of Dracula. He seemed so disinterested in the things around him. Apathetic and arrogant, and yet there was something in his eyes that intrigued her greatly...

" _Yes, I must… I must escape this place!"_

" _Where are you going to run, Victor? Your peculiar experiments have made you unwelcome in most of the civilized world."_

" _I'll take him away… far away. Where no one will ever find him."_

" _Oh no, Victor… I believe the time has come for me to take command of him."_

There was a little nagging voice in the back of Hera's head insisting that something wasn't quite right. Dracula's eyes kept diverting toward the screen in Hera's direction… she never remembered the actor looking directly into the camera before in this part of the film. His eyes had always been off to the side…

" _What are you saying?"_

" _Why do you think I brought you here? Gave you this castle? Equipped your laboratory?"_

" _You said… you said you believed in my work…"_

" _And I do. But now that it is as you yourself have said – a triumph… of science… over GOD… It must now serve my purpose…"_

" _What purpose?"_

Hera watched in fascination as the camera turned and panned back so she could have a full view of Frankenstein's laboratory, but there was just one problem – that never happened in the movie.

Was this a newly released extended cut?

And why did Dracula look like he was stealing glances at her?

Hera's heart began to pound heavily in her chest as her eyes lay transfixed on what she believed was the television screen, but something was wrong… terribly wrong. The black and white of the movie was melting away, being replaced with color, although the scene itself remained very dark. Not only in hue, but in atmosphere as well.

"You'll recall, Victor, I'm a bit of a family man," the Count drawled casually, moving his gaze back towards the doctor. "I have been struggling to father children of my own flesh and blood for centuries, but there is one grating hindrance to my plans, a sealed door – if you will – that has kept me from obtaining what is rightfully mine. My children are born dead. But why, you may ask, dear doctor – why have I supported you, what purpose could _Adam_ possibly fulfill? What could my life-deprived progeny have to do with a mere mortal such as yourself?"

The Count took a step forward and he leaned close, looking directly into the doctor's petrified eyes.

"The answer is obvious. Life, Victor. Life for my children; and you, my dear doctor, have just made me the key."

"What do you mean?" Victor asked, mortified.

"I want life, Victor – the life that was so cruelly taken from me, and, consequently, from all those just like me," and he let the mortal see the tips of his fangs. "And soon the world will know me. They will fear me. With my brides at my side, my children shall flood the earth, tearing away the life of its people, just as its people tore my life from me."

Victor stumbled back in horror, running into the monster that lay strapped on the table, listening intently to every word.

"It's what I like to refer to as _world domination_ ," the Count drawled with a sadistic smile. "The age of man is coming to an end and another shall rise from its ashes. The age of the vampire is close at hand. All you have to do, Victor, is bring my children to life. Continue to assist me willingly, as you have already done, and I will help you unlock the secrets to not just life, but life eternal."

Frankenstein's face was marred with a look of utter terror.

"Good God! I would kill myself before helping in such a task!"

Dracula merely shrugged in indifference.

"Feel free, I don't actually need you anymore, Victor. I just need _him_. He is the key…"

"I could never allow him to be used for such evil."

Dracula smiled, and it made Hera's spine tingle.

" _I could_. In fact, my brides are insisting upon it."

Hera could hardly stand this any longer. Something felt horribly off about the scene in front of her and despite her inherent rationalizations that this was just a movie, she couldn't shake the sensation of dread compressing down around her heart.

"Igor! Help me!" Victor called.

Hera waited for the scene in front of her to change to that of Igor, but all she heard was his voice, coming from above her?

"You have been so kind to me, doctor. Caring, thoughtful..."

Hera looked up and behind her to see that she wasn't in Hailey's flat anymore. She wasn't even in London anymore! There was no sofa beneath her, no TV in front of her. She was sitting on a large wooden crate, hidden in the shadows, and just above her on the rafters was… Igor?

The woman made a face as her mind whirled in confusion.

"But he pays me," Igor finished menacingly and Hera turned back to look at Frankenstein and the Count.

This had to be a dream!

She must have fallen asleep!

"Stay back!" Victor warned, pointing a sword at the Count's chest. Dracula grinned, the expression on his face making Hera's skin crawl.

"You can't kill me, Victor…" and Hera watched as he _walked_ directly into the blade and she gasped in disbelief. "I'm already dead."

The scene was no longer black and white. There was no background music, no zoomed in vision, no crappy CGI.

This was _real_.

This had to be real, but her mind wouldn't allow her to accept that possibility, simply because… it just wasn't possible!

Monsters, at least in this sense, did not exist!

Time travel certainly wasn't a thing, and there was no way a Hollywood produced film was even remotely based in reality.

And yet here she was.

Hera's eyes were wide in astonishment as she felt her feet moving her out of the shadows and towards the scene in front her, her brain scrambling to make sense of what she was witnessing.

Dracula's naturally handsome face was now marred with a demonic hunger, and though the gore was horrifying, Hera was incapable of turning away as the vampire sank his teeth into the flesh of Victor Frankenstein. She could hear the chomp of the Count's powerful bite, fangs tearing through meat, cartilage, and muscle as crimson blood painted the scientist's torn neck and he screamed in anguish before going limp in the vampire's arms from the shock and then the blood loss.

Dracula's unholy blue eyes snapped up from the doctor's neck and glued instantly to Hera. His gaze penetrated her soul as he tossed the unconscious man aside and wiped the blood from his lips.

"Who are you?" he asked her, needlessly panting for air, unaware that the monster was no longer on the table beside him.

He was too transfixed on this strange woman before him – this woman with sharp eyes, fiery hair, and a doubting gaze. Whoever she was, she had just appeared out of nowhere. He had sensed her presence just faintly when he had first arrived, but as the time had passed, it had become stronger – powerful, her mortal heart beating furiously in her chest.

Hera was still too dumbstruck to respond to the Count's inquiry.

She had to be dreaming.

She HAD to be!

This wasn't possible.

Dracula wasn't _real_ , her brain frantically rationalized, and her conscious mind began to run through an assortment of facts in an effort to root herself on what she felt was a rapidly depleting reality.

 _Bram Stoker_ , she thought. _What did I read about Stoker? The novel_ Dracula _was written in 1897 and had been largely influenced by an essay about Transylvanian superstitions, not to mention the nightmare he had had about a vampire king, although that had been brought on by too much crabmeat before bed. And then there's Victor Frankenstein. Focus, Hera! Okay. Frankenstein. Mary Shelley. Published in 1818. Written because Percy and Byron thought they could write a better horror story. But… but that was almost two hundred years ago!_

Hera's mind was running a hundred miles an hour as she attempted to make sense of all this, but the entire scenario in and of itself was sheer insanity.

She couldn't be in the year 1887!

Could she?

And if she truly was, then how on earth had she gotten here?

The Count watched as Hera's mind buzzed angrily in doubt and confusion and being the impatient man he was, he repeated his question in a more menacing tone.

"Who are you?" he demanded, taking a step forward.

Hera instinctively took a step back and shook her head in disbelief.

"Oh my God, I've finally lost it," she whispered, her words barely audible. "I've gone insane."

But the Count picked up on her answer and he smiled charmingly, a hint of devilish malevolence distorting his naturally appealing features as he continued to stalk towards her… one leisurely step at a time.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked.

"I do. But I'm seriously doubting my senses right about now," she said, shocked that she was even having a conversation with Dracula in the first place.

Oh, where was the TARDIS when she needed one?

The Count chuckled and stopped moving towards her, an amused grin on his face.

"Your heart is pounding wildly, though not entirely in fear?" and he cocked a brow, taking in her appearance when suddenly it dawned on him. "You're not from here, are you?"

Hera just stared, unable to keep her eyes off of his, not knowing if it was the shock or some sort of spell he had placed on her. The woman shook her head tentatively as she grabbed a large crate for support. She could feel the tightening in her chest, the panic in her brain.

"What is your name?" he asked her softly.

Hera stared at him with disbelieving eyes, but he noticed how she unconsciously straightened her posture in response to his question – as if out of habit – and although he could tell from her thoughts that she was clearly doubting her sanity, she seemed stable enough.

Despite her peculiar clothes.

And the odd marmalade color of her hair which clearly wasn't her natural hue.

"Your name, child."

"Hera."

Hera hardly realized that she had spoken her name – she just heard it ringing in her ears.

The Count had opened his mouth to reply, when out of nowhere a loud, angry growl penetrated the silence, erupting into momentary chaos as the Frankenstein monster appeared with a huge hunk of machinery in his hands. Before Hera could even register what was happening, that machinery was being hurled through the air until it hit Dracula dead on, smashing him into the flames of the roaring hearth. The creature then turned to Hera and went to strike when she finally snapped out of her stupor and raised her hands up in defense.

"NO!" she shouted. "No, no, no, wait… I'm a friend. I'm a friend."

The creature responded to the title and looked her once over, unaware of how Hera's mind was screaming at her. _This was working? He actually understands me?!_ Well, it was keeping her alive, so she lowered her hands gently as the monster towered over her.

"I swear, I mean you no harm," she said softly.

In any normal situation, Hera would have been mentally mocking herself, but this wasn't a dream. She genuinely believed in that moment that her life was at stake and her conscience could ridicule her later.

The monster reached out a hand and touched her face with his finger, but said nothing, a contemplative look in his eyes. Although her heart was racing madly within her chest, she smiled up at him until a loud bang interrupted the strange moment and the sound of angry villagers caught Hera's attention.

"You need to get out of here," she urged the creature. The doctor groaned softly in the distance and both the monster and Hera turned towards Victor, whose throat was partially torn out. By some miracle, Dracula had left him alive. Well, _that_ wasn't supposed to happen! Hera's mind began to race.

Victor Frankenstein, in this story, wasn't supposed to live. If he did, Dracula would bring his children to life. She had to dispose of the doctor and hide the monster and the only thing she could think of was…

"The windmill," she said and the monster pick up his barely conscious creator. "Run to the windmill." She pointed towards the exit and then watched as the monster raced out the door.

The moment he was gone, she stared at the exit for several long moments before turning around slowly to take in her surroundings – the roaring fire in the hearth, the buzzing and sparking electrical equipment, Frankenstein's blood all over the floor, the sound of the angry villagers outside in the courtyard.

Hera violently slapped her face once to see if that would wake her up.

Nothing.

She then closed her eyes and roughly pinched her arm to the point of almost bruising it and still when she opened her eyes she was here, in the laboratory of Castle Frankenstein.

"Jesus Christ, Hera, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" she shuddered, eyes wide. "What the hell did you do?"

* * *

 **Alright dearies, I want to hear your thoughts! Even if you've read the story before, I'd really appreciate your opinions and commentary!**

 **Are you a veteran fan of the story or are you a newcomer? If the former, what are you looking forward to reading the most? If you're new, what do you think will happen next? Did I overlook any mistakes? Do you have any suggestions for future improvement? Do you have any predictions, recommendations, or questions?**

 **I want to hear it all, my dear readers, so send me a review!**


	3. Saved By a Prince

**I hardly know where to begin.**

 **You guys, I cannot thank you enough for your response to the return of this story. I genuinely was not anticipating the kind of outpouring of love and kindness and support that I received in the last few days, but my God, you guys have just completely blown me away. I thoroughly enjoyed reading about your moments of nostalgia, the memories corresponding with your past associations with this tale, how it affected so many of you. I can't tell you how deeply humbled and flattered I feel. All I can say is thank you.**

 **Thank you to those who read, favorited, and followed, and an even greater thank you to those who took the time to review –** Roux Barcelone **,** Scarlet Empress **,** IOAP Veteran **,** Shawny.a **,** the invisible reader **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** She-Devil Red **,** Regency Poet **,** Angel of Beauty **,** Angels in Parachutes **,** 12345678910 **,** MissVD **, the anonymous** Guest **,** FallinAngelGirl **, and** Leah **.**

 **If I could fly you all out to California so I could hug each and every single one of you individually, I totally would. Or at the very least, I'd bake you all cookies and then we could watch _Van Helsing_ together. But alas, I can't afford that, so I pray my most sincere gratitude will suffice. Thank you to each and every one of you for taking the time to not just read, but to let me know what you thought. I hope my newcomers will continue to share their impressions, and that my veteran readers will continue to share their opinions regarding any noticeable changes as well as their feelings on the old and familiar while the story progresses. I _always_ love hearing from you. **

**Now, before you all head off to read the newest installment – a word of caution to those of you who are still very much new to this tale: some of the veterans, in their reminiscing, may reveal future parts of the story before it even happens, so if you're the kind of person that hates spoilers, I'd recommend avoiding reading the other reviews until the story is done – just to be safe. And to my veterans, reminisce and gush away! I love seeing what you guys remember and your reactions to coming across it all again makes me indescribably happy.**

* * *

 **III**

 _ **Saved By a Prince**_

Prince Velkan Valerious stood amidst the angry villagers with their torches and pitchforks as he stared up at the large window where Victor's laboratory was located. He had seen Dracula in there with the doctor. He _knew_ there was something wrong – he had had his suspicions for a while now.

Visceria's undertaker, the man that was leading this castle siege, called down to the mob, pointing out in the distance. Velkan followed the direction of the man's gesture, noticing the monster with the doctor in his arms.

"He's headed for the windmill! Come on!" the undertaker shouted and the villagers began to change directions, but Velkan stayed put, his eyes diverting back toward the laboratory window. "Come, your grace. The monster is escaping!" but the gypsy prince would not move.

"The Count is up there!" Velkan whispered harshly to the man, whose eyes widened in horror and then in hesitation.

"Dracula?" he clarified. Velkan nodded.

"I'm going up there," the prince replied resolutely, but the undertaker grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"Your highness, he'll kill you!" he hissed, but Velkan tugged his arm from the man's grip and began to race up the stairs.

"Then I die… but I won't go down without a fight. We may be able to end all of this evil tonight. I'm going up there…"

As the villagers raced after the monster, pitchforks high and torches ablaze, Velkan quietly disappeared inside Castle Frankenstein.

* * *

Hera continued to rub her temples as she spoke aloud in an attempt to calm herself down.

"Hera, this is just a dream. It's just a dream. A very lucid and realistic dream, mind you, but hey, this sort of thing has happened to people before. You're fine. None of this is real. There is _no way_ you could have gone back in time. Time travel is impossible. You probably just fell asleep on the sofa at Hailey's house and you'll wake up any second now. This is just a dream…"

The young woman looked around once again, against her better judgment, and her eyes noticed the crimson blood that stained the floor in front of the fireplace. She could feel the heat of the roaring fire from where she stood, along with the cold draft moving about the room. She could percieve the leather boots on her feet, the tightly fitting jeans on her legs. Her hand reached into the pocket of her hoodie and found that even her iPod was still in there. Hera shakily pushed it back into her pocket.

"Okay, maybe I'm not dreaming," she whispered softly to herself.

Hera became aware of a groan coming from behind her and she turned to face the fireplace where Dracula had been effectively pinned in the flames by a large hunk of burning machinery. Ignoring the protestations of the more rational side of her brain, she moved closer to the large hearth where she could see the Count's burning skull, his torso and thighs crushed underneath the chunk of twisted metal.

The muscle was growing back on the skeleton of the vampire and recalling what was about to happen, she quickly stepped out of the way just as the machine flew violently out of the blaze, crashing against something in the distance. Hera could do little else but stare as the Count emerged from the inferno, walking toward her as the fire dissipated abruptly, allowing him to heal miraculously before her eyes until his entire person – flesh _and_ clothing – were restored.

Hera felt the table that the monster had been strapped to behind her and she gripped it in an effort to stay standing.

"Oh my God," she whispered as the Count's restoration completed, the silk of his hair pushing past the follicles in his head and into that infamous ponytail as if nothing had happened. His pinky gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear, his expression full of annoyance.

"Where is he?" he demanded, but Hera didn't answer. The Count growled impatiently and grabbed her by the throat. "I said _, where is he_?" he shouted, fangs bared. Hera instinctively clutched his wrist and tried to pry his long fingers from around her neck.

"How am I supposed to tell you if you're choking me?" she asked, fighting for the air he was so mercilessly depriving her of. She felt her legs give out beneath her, but he held her still, towering over her.

"Try to do it anyway," he mocked, his eyes glowing. "I saw you talking to him. Now where did he go?"

Hera started to scratch at his hand, her nails digging into his cold flesh in some vain hope that the pain would inspire him to release her. She could feel the moist iciness of his blood as she broke his skin, but he remained unmoved. If anything, he only squeezed harder. Maybe he felt something after all?

Her skull felt like it was ready to explode from the deprivation of oxygen and she dug her nails deeper into his hand, tearing it to pieces as she fought to remove herself from his hold.

"Windmill…" she managed to wheeze, her voice barely comprehensible.

"I beg your pardon?"

She gasped desperately when she felt his grip loosen just a fraction.

"Windmill," she rasped. "He's headed toward the windmill…"

After what felt like an age, she felt his hold slacken considerably and she inhaled deep before coughing frantically. Although he had loosened his grip on her throat, he still held her neck in his hand.

"Now answer me one last question," he said, voice low and fangs lengthening. "What did you say your name was again?" and his elongated nails gently scraped the sides of her neck, creating thin cuts to the point where she knew she had to be bleeding from the look of dark euphoria in his glowing eyes.

His fangs grew out farther still as the rest of his teeth sharpened considerably and she winced when he ran a single nail along the side of her neck, breaking the skin. He ran that same digit through the blood that now stained her flesh and he licked it sensually. When he did so again, this time instead of tasting her, he hovered his bloody finger over her lips in a taunting manner, messing with her mind.

"Hera. Hera Garret," she breathed, lost in the swirling blue of his eyes, feeling the pain he had inflicted on her vanish from all consciousness as her mind grew heavy under the weight of his stronger will.

"What a lovely name for a lovely young woman," he purred, continuing to run the tip of his finger over her lips. "Such delicious blood," he breathed, his bloodlust consuming him. "You won't mind if I take a proper taste…" and he descended, mouth nearing the scratch on her neck.

Hera could hear her heart in her head. The entire earth beneath her seemed to be whirling, spinning faster than ever before and she felt her knees wobble. Before she could fall to the floor, his arms were around her, keeping her steady. And as she began to quickly ease into his embrace, his face moved ever closer toward her throat.

"Let her go, foul demon!" came a voice from behind.

Dracula's hold on Hera tightened almost possessively for the briefest of moments as he growled quietly in disapproval. He turned his attention to the intruder, fully prepared to frighten the fool away with a display of authority, but when he realized who had interrupted them, the vampire smiled maliciously.

Hera recognized the newcomer instantly, even though her mind was still clouded over in Dracula's spell.

"Prince Velkan Valerious," the Count drawled as he finally released Hera from his grasp, letting her fall to the ground rather ungraciously at his feet. "What a _pleasure_ to see you!"

"Leave her be, Dracula," Velkan shouted bravely. "Your dispute is with no one but me. Leave the woman alone. You've feasted on enough blood tonight."

A disapproving rumble reverberated deep within the Count's chest as he clenched and unclenched his fists, silently weighing the pros and cons of killing the gypsy prince now or going after the monster as he should have. He had already wasted enough time.

"As much as I enjoy our little tête-à-têtes, your grace, I fear I'm in the middle of something far more pressing," he replied coolly. "Feel fortunate that I presently lack the desire to shed your blood tonight. Oh, and do tell your sweet sister, Anna, that if she ever attempts to meddle in my affairs again, I will tear her throat out with my teeth!"

"Be gone, demon from hell!" Velkan shouted, exposing a crucifix in hopes that it would at least protect him.

Dracula laughed darkly, the sound resonating off of the high walls.

"We will meet on the battlefield again, Prince Velkan," he promised. When Dracula was certain the gypsy prince understood the gravity of his words, the vampire glanced down at the barely conscious Hera who lay in a heap on the floor at his feet and he caught her gaze. "And I will be seeing _you_ again," he purred, his deep tone laced with a sensuality that made her shiver as though from the cold.

He then shifted into his winged beast form and took off into the night, the sound of the shattering window accompanied by a roar that echoed in the night air.

The moment Dracula was gone, Velkan glanced down at his crucifix and then tossed it aside, frustrated by its apparent uselessness. His attention turned to the strange woman on the floor, her neck bruised and bleeding, her attire a bit puzzling to say the least. But the prince put that aside as he recognized the trouble she was in.

Velkan moved over to her quickly, kneeling down at her side in a compassionate manner before instinctively checking her throat, shoulders, and wrists for bites. When he realized she was free of marks, he finally asked the obvious.

"Are you all right?" he inquired gently, taking out a soft handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the blood from her mouth and neck.

"I don't know," she muttered breathlessly, head still pounding. "I'll live, I think, if that's what you're wondering."

He chuckled, pleased with her sense of humor as he continued to wipe the blood from her wounds.

"I like your spirit," he replied. "Tell me, what are you doing up here?"

"To be quite honest with you, I'm not entirely sure. I have a theory, but it's so far-fetched, I doubt you'd believe me if I told you."

He smiled upon standing and offered her his hand to help her up.

"Try me," he answered as she took his hand and he lifted her to her feet, but the moment she was standing, Hera lost her center of gravity and started to fall back to the ground. "Whoa! Careful now…" and he caught her in his arms. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Help me," she whimpered, her eyes fluttering as if she were struggling to keep them open.

She started to go limp in his arms and he decided it would be best to carry her. When they made it outside, Velkan could see in the distance the windmill of which the monster had run to. It was now on fire, and from what he could tell, Dracula and his three brides had just flown onto the scene.

He smiled at the sight, knowing all too well by the wailings of the women and the angry roar of the Count that they had lost the monster _and_ the doctor. Though their reasons for wanting either persons alive were beyond the Prince, all that mattered was that the Count had lost this evening and the thought made him feel like drinking in celebration. But first he had to take care of this strange woman draped over his shoulder – whoever she was.

But that didn't mean he couldn't gloat a little, even if it was just to himself.

"How does it feel, Dracula, to lose another battle?" he mused softly.

After basking in the minor victory for a few seconds, Velkan fetched one of the late doctor's horses from the stables, placed the unconscious stranger on the animal first, and then rode down to the village below in the valley between the towering mountains.

When he arrived, he could hear his people celebrating, the sound of singing and laughter muffled behind the closed doors. At least the townsfolk were happy tonight – and rightfully so. They had thwarted another plan of the Count's and the heretical grave robber, Victor Frankenstein, along with his abomination were both dead. In Velkan's mind, they had every reason in the world to celebrate.

The gypsy prince rode quietly through the village and towards the familiar road that led to the Valerious Manor – the large mansion that had housed his family for generations, where – undoubtedly – Anna was waiting up for him. He stopped near the front door and then dismounted, gathering the still unconscious woman in his arms just as one of the servants came out to greet him.

"Master Velkan, praise the Lord, you're in one piece!" the man proclaimed. When the servant noticed the redheaded female in the prince's arms, he crossed himself. "Who is that?"

"I'm not quite sure," Velkan replied truthfully, heading inside with the servant following close behind. "I found her in Castle Frankenstein, and at the mercy of the Count. He would have killed her if I hadn't intervened."

The familiar sound of his sister's footfall reached his ears and he turned to see Anna heading towards him from one of the halls.

"Velkan, thank God you're all right. What happened? Who is that?"

"She's hurt, Anna. I saved her from Dracula."

The gypsy princess began to race up the stairs.

"Quickly. Follow me," she said and Velkan complied without a second thought as the servant trailed behind them, giving a few orders to some of the maids to bring freshly boiled water, rags, and healing herbs, along with some brandy.

Anna led them to a spare bedroom in which Velkan gently laid the stranger down on the bed and took a step back as Anna examined Hera's throat, even though she knew Velkan had probably already done so. The prince understood that his sister would want to reassure herself, so he made no objections.

"Where did you find her?" Anna said at last.

"In Frankenstein's laboratory. The Count had her by the throat."

"What has become of the doctor? And the monster?" She looked over at her brother expectantly.

"I saw blood on the floor – lots of it – and from what I heard in the village, the monster and the doctor have fallen. They burned the windmill down." Anna's expression was a mixture of relief and frustration. "He was working for Dracula, Anna," Velkan continued. "I'm certain of it."

"I got a letter from father while you were out. He should be home within the month."

Velkan nodded in understanding.

"Where is he now?"

"After he visits with mother's uncle, he'll go to the Vatican to see if he can convince the Knights of the Holy Order to help us. He says he's doubtful that they'll offer us their assistance. Last time they said they had no one to spare and he fears it'll be the same excuse as before."

"Even if they had an army of angels on their side, Rome wouldn't be able to help us against that demon, Anna," he said with bitterness as he moved over to the window so she wouldn't see the disappointment in his eyes. "God has abandoned us, and even if He hadn't, Dracula doesn't fear the powers of heaven. It is useless."

Anna looked over at her brother with a sense of hesitation before finally standing from her seat and she rested her hand reassuringly on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"God has not abandoned us, Velkan. Not yet," she whispered. "Perhaps He'll send someone who can help us."

Velkan looked over at his sister and managed a smile for her, grateful for her optimism and faith, even if he didn't share it.

"I hope you're right, Anna. And I hope it's soon."

The sound of a soft groan interrupted the tender moment and the siblings looked over at the woman on the bed. Anna moved back over to the bedside with Velkan behind her and they observed the stranger with equal suspicion.

"Who do you suppose she is?" Anna wondered aloud.

Her brother only shrugged.

"I haven't the slightest idea," he confessed. "But whoever she is, she needs our help. We can interrogate her when she's ready to wake up."

"Fine. We'll let her sleep."

"Shall I take the first watch? What time is it anyway?"

"Half-past nine, I believe. And if you have no objections, I'd actually prefer to stay."

"I don't mind the company," Velkan said with a smile.


	4. She Knows Things

**That last chapter was awfully short. How about another one, hmm? I think after the wealth of responses last week, you've earned it. ENJOY!**

 ** _Warning_ \- some lemony bits at the end of the chapter. Nothing to require a hard "M" rating just yet, but if you don't like that kind of stuff, you should probably just leave now while you can. **

* * *

**IV**

 _ **She Knows Things**_

A dull pain throbbed in Hera's temples and stung along the column of her neck. Her mouth felt horridly dry, and the metallic taste of blood seemed to linger on her tongue. She felt neither cold nor hot – but a soothing temperature of perfection seemed to envelope her body and it made staying conscious all the more difficult.

Hera was on something comfortable; that was for certain. Cotton and wool – if she knew her fabrics well enough. The smell of burning pine reached her nostrils, along with the scent of forest that was carried in with the breeze that gently ran across her face and over her shoulders.

The young woman shuddered slightly as that coolness washed over her. She lifted her hand to rub the sleepiness out of her eyes when she felt something else that disrupted the voyage. It felt rough and warm – like an unshaven face. Hera's mind rebelled.

What? That couldn't be possible…

With some difficulty, she forced her lead-weighted eyelids to open, blinking a few times as her vision adjusted to the soft light of candles and the fireplace in the room and the… her eyes snapped open in shock.

"No," she whispered aloud.

No, this wasn't happening! It couldn't be!

She looked to her right to see the face she had touched and she noticed Velkan's head resting on the mattress and… Anna Valerious in the chair by the fire? Hera groaned in protest. Then it wasn't a dream? It was real! She had travelled back in time! But how?!

"No, no, no, no this isn't happening!" she suddenly exclaimed, covering her face with her hands. "Is there no end to this nightmare?"

Velkan and Anna awoke after her outburst and the Prince grabbed Hera's wrists to move them from her face.

"Hey, hey… it's all right," he said soothingly. "You're alright. You're safe now."

Hera looked up at the gypsy prince, instantly recalling what had happened – how he had rescued her.

"You're safe," he said once again and when Hera grew quiet, he released her.

Choosing to relax over panicking, Hera leaned back into the bed, not only because she knew he was right – she was indeed safe in the Valerious manor – it also helped that it was Prince Velkan Valerious that was saying it to her. He looked _exactly_ like the actor in the movie – maybe even a little better in real life – and his good looks and genuinely kind eyes comforted her far more than his words of reassurance did.

Hera reached up and touched her neck, only to wince when she realized how tender the flesh was.

"Dracula had you by the throat," Velkan explained sympathetically. "You're lucky to be alive."

"Don't I know it," Hera replied, gingerly assessing the damage with her fingertips. "That sadist has one nasty grip," she added. Hera returned her attention to Velkan and smiled. "Thank you for saving my life."

He nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"You are very welcome."

"What's your name?" Anna interjected, wanting answers instead of the pleasant formalities. "What were you doing in Castle Frankenstein?"

Hera shivered, suddenly realizing that her sweatshirt was missing – no wonder she was freezing.

"Where's my hoodie?" she demanded. Anna and Velkan sent her a puzzled look. "My jacket?" she clarified, recognizing that they had no idea what she was talking about. Anna stood up and grabbed it from off the bureau beside the bed and tossed it onto Hera's lap, watching as she pulled it on. "Thank you."

"Your name?" Anna repeated rather impatiently, ignoring Velkan's scolding expression.

"You're not going to believe me," Hera began, but Anna only folded her arms defiantly over her chest, standing beside her brother.

"We believe in monsters when the rest of the world does not," the princess pointed out. "I think whatever you have to say won't be as fantastical as that."

Hera shrugged and tucked her legs closer to her before beginning.

"Very well. My name is Hera Garret, and… I'm from the future."

Anna and Velkan stared at her for a moment, utterly silent – until Anna exhaled in disbelief and began to leave.

"You're right. That is crazy. Have one of the servants throw her out. I'm going to bed."

"I'm telling you the truth, Anna. You have to believe me!"

Anna stopped mid-step and turned to face the woman on the bed, a puzzled look in her eyes.

"How do you know my name?"

"That's not all I know about you, _Princess_ Anna Valerious," Hera replied knowingly, and with a marked degree of cheek.

The only way she'd get them to believe her is if she proved it to them, yet doing so could really go one of two ways: either they'd deem her crazy and would then throw her out into the woods and leave her for dead, or they'd believe her. But considering the fact that if she didn't say anything she'd _still_ get thrown out of the house and left for dead, she decided to take the risk.

Hera looked over at Velkan. Though he was clearly the man of the house, Anna was obviously the one that ran the show. She needed an ally and Hera had a sneaking suspicion that the prince was far more willing to trust and defend her than Anna was. If she could convince Velkan, she could work on Anna later.

"You are Prince Velkan Valerious – her older brother," she stated gently, holding his gaze. "Your father's name is Boris. Your mother's name was Katarina. She died almost twelve years ago. She was killed by Aleera – Count Dracula's youngest, and if we're being truthful, his most psychotic bride."

Anna and Velkan both stared in wonderment.

"Your family is in a feud with the Count – has been for centuries. He was sired by your ancestor, Valerious the Elder, and your family has been trying to destroy him ever since. But now, the only survivors of your line are you two and your father, who has gone to Rome in search of assistance. How am I doing so far?"

"Who are you?" Anna asked very carefully. "And how do you know these things?"

The truth of it was, some of that information was completely new to Hera, and where in her brain it had come from, she couldn't be certain. Perhaps she had read it before and her survival instincts were allowing her to suddenly recall it? Either way, she wasn't about to let them know that.

"I'm from the future," she repeated instead. "Your past, present, and future are nothing but history to me."

"You really are not of our time, then, aren't you?" Velkan asked her, very intrigued. "What year are you from?"

Hera told them and Anna had to sit down.

"I don't believe it," she whispered. "So wait a minute, if you're from the future, how did you get here, to our time?"

Hera shrugged as she looked over at the princess.

"I have no idea," was her honest response. "I was over at my friend's house – her name is Hailey – and I was watching a movie… and the next thing I know I'm in the laboratory in Castle Frankenstein, and Dracula is feeding from the doctor and then the monster escaped and then Dracula blamed it on _me_ , and the last thing I remember was Velkan saving me…" and the two women looked over at the prince who was just openly staring at Hera in astonishment.

He soon became conscious of their glances and he cleared his throat, regaining his composure.

"So you just… got here and you don't know how?" he clarified. Hera nodded.

"That's right."

"So wait a moment – if you know all about us and Dracula, does that mean you know the outcome of this war? Does it even end?" Anna asked eagerly.

"Yes, I know," Hera answered softly.

"So how do we defeat Dracula?"

Hera went to open her mouth and tell them but something – what exactly she couldn't be sure – but something kept her from saying it. She was thinking it in her head – _werewolf venom… Van Helsing kills Dracula_ – but she couldn't get the words out. Something had stopped her tongue.

"I can't say," Hera finally managed. Anna shot her a look.

"You mean you _won't_."

"Get me a piece of paper and a pen. Let me see if I can write it out."

Anna fetched the necessary materials and handed them to Hera, but when Hera attempted to write, the ink miraculously dried up before the quill could even touch the paper. After getting over the initial surprise, Hera realized – if she told them the truth about Dracula, Van Helsing, and what was to come, she would severely alter the course of history, which would undoubtedly change the future. Perhaps that's why she couldn't speak.

But then why was she here in the first place, if not to change or do something?

"You really can't tell us, can you?" Velkan said.

"I'm sorry, but that appears to be the case. I wish I could, truly, but something seems to be stopping me."

"Perhaps we aren't meant to know?"

"Velkan, don't be ridiculous," Anna interrupted. "It's clear she knows something – you can see it on her face. She's just keeping it to herself. What do you want for this information? Money? Power? You are more than welcome to rule and lead this people if you can give my family a way to rid ourselves of Dracula once and for all. Or are you secretly working for him and the danger Velkan says you were in was only a ruse?"

"Anna, that's enough."

"But she knows how to defeat Dracula, Velkan! We can't just ignore that!"

"I would help you if I could," Hera promised, but it was clear Anna still wasn't sure.

"And how are we to know that? For centuries, our ancestors have fought to put an end to Dracula, to protect our people. And for centuries they have all died in vain."

"I understand that, Anna, but I…"

"Anna, back off," Velkan interrupted. "Let it go."

"Maybe you're asking me the wrong question," Hera offered in hopes of at least appearing more compliant. "I want to help you, Anna. Truly, I do. I can't tell you how to kill Dracula, but maybe I can tell you something else."

This seemed to placate the princess and her features softened somewhat, though she continued to stand in a defensive position. Anna nodded to Velkan, silently encouraging him to continue and the prince returned his attention to their guest.

"Hera, are you able to tell us who wins this war? Do any of us survive? Does it ever end?"

Hera paused for a moment, not because she didn't know, but because she wanted to know how best to articulate the truth. Anna was on the verge of getting impatient again when Hera finally spoke.

"That depends on what you mean. Everyone dies in this feud," and she looked into the eyes of both siblings before continuing, " _Everyone_ on both sides."

The solemnity in the room was oppressive.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such awful news," she added. "But I do know how each of you dies… I may not be able to tell you directly, but perhaps I can help prevent it," she offered.

"Won't that change the course of the future?" Anna asked with noted bitterness, only earning another scolding look from Velkan.

"Perhaps – perhaps not. But I can try," she replied. "It's the least I could do. I can also tell you that the curse on your family is lifted when Dracula is finally defeated. Generations of the Valerious line will finally be able to enter the gates of St. Peter. There is peace at the end of this war, Anna… and maybe, with my knowledge, I can help make sure at least both of you can live to see that peace."

That silence lingered once more as the two women held the other's gaze, Hera's expression full of pleading for trust, Anna's terribly conflicted. The princess's instincts were telling her that perhaps this stranger could be trusted, but her suspicions continued to linger.

At long last, Anna finally looked away and started to head for the door, the movement dispelling the tension.

"The sun will be rising in a couple of hours. You should get some more rest while it's still dark out," she managed. "Velkan, come on. She's all right. She can sleep by herself."

"You mean I can stay?" Hera asked.

Anna and Velkan exchanged looks.

"For now, yes," Anna relented. "We'll discuss the details of your stay in the morning. Should you feel the need to go exploring, I suggest you stay indoors until Velkan and I decide what is to be done."

"Thank you, Anna. I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you."

Anna said nothing and walked out into the hall. Velkan stood from his chair beside Hera's bed to follow after his sister.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask," he said kindly.

Hera smiled warmly at him, the curvature of her lips doing astonishing things to his insides.

"Thank you."

Anna moved in front of her bother and grabbed the handle of the door to shut it.

"Good night," the princess said with as much civility as she could muster before shutting the door and heading down the hall, her brother following close behind.

"You know Anna, you don't have to be so cold. She didn't do anything wrong."

Anna turned around and sent her brother a censorious look.

"Velkan, let me clarify for you what just happened in the last few hours and then maybe you can understand how I'm feeling. First – you find some strange woman who claims to be from the future in the clutches of our family's greatest enemy and for reasons beyond both of us, he happens to spare her. Second – this woman happens to know things, things no person should know, and the most important details she can or won't share with us. Third – the fact that we all _die_ trying to defeat Dracula I find – and I'm certain you will concur – very upsetting. And finally, have you taken a moment to consider what would happen if Dracula found out the truth about her, if everything she says happens to be true? What if he discovers she's alive and well and living under our roof? What if he learns who she is and what she knows – do you realize what potential danger that woman has placed us in? She is going to jeopardize our very existence, Velkan…"

"Actually, it sounds like our existences were rather jeopardized to begin with."

"I don't care if I'm meant to die, but I will not die because of _her!"_ she snapped quietly so the servants wouldn't overhear her.

Velkan started to smile. He always found that his sister looked rather hilarious when she was upset.

"Are you finished?" he asked teasingly.

"I suppose."

"You promise you won't interrupt me?" he added and she sent him a look, trying hard not to smile.

"I'm not making any promises."

"Anna, did _you_ ever consider what would happen if she indeed got into the wrong hands?" Anna opened her mouth to speak, but Velkan's hand stopped her abruptly. "And another thing, did it ever occur to you that if Dracula got a hold of Hera, there's no telling what he'd do? She knows everything about us, Anna. Alright, perhaps not _everything_ , but she knows more than we do. She knows how we die. She knows how to kill Dracula. She knows the outcome of this war – and probably how it ends and who will be there. She's from the future, so she has an upper hand on all of us, and if Dracula gets control of her, he could somehow force it out of her and then we _really_ wouldn't stand a chance against him."

He could see the wheels turning in Anna's stubborn head and he continued to drive home his point.

"So she knows how we die – but think about it. The information she has I'm certain is what would happen without her presence in our lives. Maybe she _can_ save us. Perhaps she can help us make our own history. Either way, whether you trust her or not, we can't let her go, Anna. You know that. If she ends up in Dracula's power, we don't stand a chance in hell. We're much better off with her at least in our possession than without her. I propose she stay with us, as a guest, at the very least until Father gets home."

The look his sister sent him was priceless.

"A guest? Are you mad? I say we throw her in a dungeon and hide the key until we can be sure of her allegiance."

"If we imprisoned her, she'd have no reason to help us."

"I could give her a reason."

"Trust me, Anna. We're much better off if we treat her like a guest, make her _want_ to help us. Besides, we could use her insight, her knowledge. It would be better if we had her on our side of the board, because if we throw her to the wolves…"

"We're dead anyway," she finished reluctantly. "I know. I just… I don't like this, Velkan."

"You don't think she can be trusted?"

"I don't know. It's too early to tell. I just really don't like the idea of having her around us if and when Dracula finds out about her. And you _know_ he will. He'll stop at nothing to get her once he knows."

"That's why we keep all of this really quiet for the present until we can devise a better plan. Maybe we can make an alliance with Hera and she'll allow us to protect her from the Count. She might actually be able to help us win this war, Anna. I genuinely believe that with her help, at the very least, one of us could survive to see the end of it."

Anna managed a smile as Velkan took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.

"Can she stay?"

"You're leaving the decision up to me?" she practically shouted. He chuckled.

"I'm making you responsible, Anna."

She rolled her eyes in defeat, shrugging his hands off her shoulders.

"Fine, she can stay. But she's under _your charge_ , Velkan. I don't need or want to baby-sit anyone."

"Fair enough. Shall I write Father, or do you want to?"

"Let me," she replied with a heavy sigh. Velkan wrapped his arms around his sister and hugged her before kissing her on the head.

"Thank you, baby sister."

"I'm not a child, imbecile," she exclaimed, punching him in the chest. Velkan laughed as he headed towards his private chambers.

"Goodnight Anna!"

"I hate you, Velkan," she teased and then they parted ways, disappearing into their respective rooms to get some much needed rest, totally unaware that three pairs of attentive ears had been listening in the entire time.

A slender hand with long nails pressed against the glass of a window, looking in on the woman who lay asleep in the guest bedroom. The watcher's teal colored eyes were fixed on the stranger, the scent of her master faint yet discernable. The observer's dark, silky hair blew in the breeze as she crawled about the outer walls of the house like some sort of creature not entirely bound by gravity. Another woman slinked over to her, her curly blonde hair and insanely yellow eyes almost luminous in the moonlight.

"Where is Aleera?" the dark haired one asked, clearly the leader.

The blonde shrugged, her fangs peeking out from behind her rosy lips as she looked in at the sleeping mortal in the guest bedroom.

"I don't know. But did you hear what the Valerious were saying?" she purred.

"Yes. We must inform the master," the other replied and she continued to look in. "I can smell him on this one," she said softly, her fangs lengthening as jealousy began to course through her dead veins. "Her neck is untainted. Why would he leave this one untouched?"

"We mustn't question the master, Verona," the blonde replied. "He knows best."

"That's why the monster is dead and the doctor has gone with him," someone replied from the shadows.

The two women looked over to see a redheaded female had just joined them.

"Aleera, where have you been?" Verona asked.

"Keeping an eye out while you two eavesdrop."

"Marishka, are you sure there is nothing more to be heard?" Verona asked.

The one called Marishka nodded obediently.

"Princess Anna and Prince Velkan have gone to rest."

"What of the stranger?" Aleera asked.

Verona looked back into the bedroom at Hera.

"She could pose a threat to our master if we are not careful," Verona replied. "He should have killed her when he had the chance."

"He did not know, Verona. Do not be so angry with the master," Marishka said. "He is good to us. Do not fixate your frustration and disappointment of the experiment on him. It is not his fault."

Verona hissed angrily at Marishka and the two younger vampires cowered back slightly.

"Do not speak on something of which you know little to nothing about, Marishka," Verona growled, her eyes glowing. "The creature has been destroyed and the doctor is dead. Our children will never live. Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Of course it means something. I have been waiting almost as long as you for our children to live. You are not the only one who has been disappointed this night, Verona."

"Sisters, the sun will be rising soon. We must return to the master. He is expecting us," Aleera interrupted.

"Aleera is right," Verona concurred, masking her despair with a façade of duty. "Besides, we are not the only ones to have endured disappointment this night."

The other two nodded solemnly.

"The poor master," Marishka sighed.

"Come sisters. Let us go to him," Verona said, but before she could take off, Aleera replied,

"Can we get something to eat first? I'm famished."

The eldest bride rolled her eyes.

How that young one could be hungry at a time like this was beyond her. The mere thought of her children that would never live stole any appetite Verona could have had.

"No. We have lingered too long already."

"But Verona…"

"I said no!" she snapped, eyes glowing a brilliant teal and filled with violent impatience. The two younger brides cowered in submission until Verona took off into the night sky, Marishka and Aleera begrudgingly following close behind.

Although it was clear Verona's temper was born out of disappointment, Aleera was too proud to let Verona's brush-off go. She had grown weary of the eldest bride's sense of superiority over her. Although their master claimed to feel for them in equal measure, it was clear Verona had always been his closest companion, his confidant; which left Aleera to use her other wiles to vie for her master's attention.

She challenged Verona's authority whenever she could, quick to defy, but also eager to please her master by any means necessary. Aleera was determined to prove that her master only needed one bride – _her_.

As they neared the icy fortress, Aleera quickly picked up speed as if their arrival were a race. Verona usually landed first – she was often first in everything, since she had been with Dracula the longest. But in the last few months, Aleera had taken to turning everything into a competition with Verona and the eldest bride understood that the redhead was no threat to take lightly.

Like Marishka, Aleera's energy, feistiness, and bed-habits greatly appealed to their master, whereas Verona had always been more of the passionate, deeply devoted lover type.

But little did any of them know that their master viewed them all as little more than sumptuous bedfellows in the day and servants to do his bidding in the night. He cared for them on some partially superficial level or other, but Dracula had never loved them. His brides were an hour's worth of pleasure and conveniently free labor at best. The majority of the female sex – at least the ones he had come across in his four hundred years of living – proved to be little else.

Soon, the three brides arrived home, tens of thousands of unborn progeny hanging from the ceiling of the monstrous foyer as they walked toward the set of stairs that led to the master's office in the north tower. Marishka practically skipped and danced down the hall while Verona argued with Aleera about how wearisome her defiance had become.

"I had told you to stay close when we went to check in on the Valerious and you vanished during the entire duration of that time, only deciding to make an appearance just as we were ready to leave. Aleera, I have grown weary of your disobedience," Verona insisted.

"You're not my master!" the redhead snapped back.

"No, but he left me in charge. You never do as you're told and your indolence and pride are going to get you or the rest of us killed one of these days."

"I'm not lazy! How dare you question me! Who was it who took care of one of those men who tried to kill us the last time the master sent us out? Who was it who broke the prince's weapon when he tried to shoot the master?"

"You seduced the man! You played with him instead of getting to point," Verona contended.

"Either way, I do my share around here, Verona! Just because you're the oldest, doesn't make you our ruler!"

"Master!" Marishka squealed as they entered the room, Count Dracula sitting at a beautiful oak desk in a large, black leather chair, the material as smooth and slick as him.

The Count looked up at his brides as they entered the room and he didn't even bother to fake a pleased smile. He had been enjoying the reprieve from their mournful cries and though it seemed like Aleera had quickly moved on from the travesty of the evening, Marishka was at least pretending to be happy for his sake and Verona looked thoroughly exhausted.

Marishka was the first to approach his desk, leaning against the edge, clearly in need of attention.

"You'll never guess what news we got for you," she began.

The Count looked over at Aleera and Verona, who he noticed had just been arguing and though their presence did little for him, the tension made him smirk. He secretly loved watching these women fight. It was more amusing than anything else that went on around here, and though he was still put out by the events of the evening, he welcomed the distraction.

"How pertinent is this information, Verona?" he asked his eldest as Marishka stood behind him and massaged his shoulders while Aleera took her seat on the floor at his feet, resting her head obediently on his thigh. The Count instinctively stroked his youngest bride's head as she showered his remaining hand in kisses.

"It's nothing to worry about master," Aleera chimed.

"I didn't ask you, Aleera. I asked Verona," he replied with a noted degree of ice and the woman hushed immediately as he looked back at Verona, who had what appeared to be a slightly satisfied curve in her lips. "Continue my dear."

"I believe it could be of grave importance if we do not remain attentive."

"Let's start with the woman's name."

"Her name is Hera Garret. She appears to be about five-and-twenty, and she's from the future."

"What year?" Dracula asked casually.

When Verona told him, he stood up from his seat suddenly; much to his two younger brides' dismay and he began to pace about the room.

"Does she pose any kind of immediate threat?" he asked, making this an open question now.

"Well, considering she's from the future, that means she knows things," Marishka chimed in.

"Yes, but what kind of things? Is she ignorant to the past, or is she knowledgeable?"

Verona sat down on the sofa, watching her master pace.

"I fear she knows things," she confirmed gently, her voice unsettling and slightly deep. "Things that could prove detrimental to all of us if we are not careful."

The Count noticed the hint of concern in his eldest bride's voice and he didn't like it. Verona sounded worried and the last thing he wanted was all three of his brides being too afraid to obey his commands.

He allowed a sympathetic smile to curve his thin lips as he made his way over to the sofa and sat beside her, tenderly caressing her hair out of her face.

"What kind of things, my pet?" he asked with noted gentleness, his face inching towards hers where he placed a soft kiss on her forehead in an effort to soothe her. He ensnared her with tremendous ease, banishing her fears, her uncertainty, and her disappointment from this evening with an ardent kiss.

The other two brides began to whine and croon when the Count led Verona onto his lap, each taking a seat on either side of him so they could fawn over him, vying for the attention they so desperately sought.

"What does she know, Verona?" he repeated in sensuous tones.

"She knows the outcome of the war, who dies, when they die and how. She even knows your weakness, master," Verona purred and she nuzzled her face into his neck.

The Count's eyes widened somewhat at that piece of news, but he hid his concern well.

"Did she tell them, my sweet?"

"No, master. Though she tried, but something prevented her."

"At least for the present."

"She's dangerous," she whimpered into his neck, gently stroking his chest with her hand.

Dracula couldn't help but smirk as his three brides soon began to do what they willed with his clothes and to his body. He let them, understanding their need for reassurance, though his mind was more agreeably engaged with the memory of those sharp, honey colored eyes of this Hera he had met earlier in the evening. So she was eager to help the Valerious, was she? Even after he threatened to take her life.

The Count would never admit it, but he admired her bravery… or stupidity, whichever it was.

"She was probably bluffing," Dracula assured his brides. "I am certain that this Hera Garret is of no real threat to us."

"Shall we gather her for you, my lord?" Marishka purred in his ear. "She could make a lovely play-thing."

"No. The Valerious will be on their guard now, so just leave her be for the present. But I want you to keep an eye on her my lovelies… I want to know everything about this woman, what she is really about. We must determine if she is neutral in this war or not and if the latter, we will need to _persuade_ her to our side."

"Why not just kill her and get it over with?" Aleera asked, hand slipping between his and Verona's bodies so she could reach his belt.

"Because we may need her as leverage if the Valerious brats thwart any more of our plans."

"How will we convince her to help us?" Marishka breathed, voice hitched when her master unfastened the front of her top, revealing her full and flawless breasts to his greedy eyes.

As Aleera's hand boldly found Dracula's length within his pants, Verona continued to kiss and suckle his neck. He took Marishka's recently exposed nipple between two fingers and lightly pinched, the action inspiring her to seek his mouth with hers as he fondled the sensitive flesh.

"You leave that to me," the Count replied between kisses. "When the time comes, leave all of that to me."

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed these last two chapters.**

 **Now, some answers to a few of the questions that cropped up in the last round of reviews:**

IOAP Veteran **– yes, that quote you mentioned was part of the original. I'm pleased you remembered! I may resurrect my conversations with the muse, but that depends entirely on him. ;) He's been hard at work, helping me in reassessing and plotting out** _Eternal Night **.**_ **Sadly** _ **,**_ **we haven't had a proper dialogue in some time. May need to rectify that.  
**

ForeverACharmedOne **– I was channeling old Rumple in light of the way A &E have totally massacred that character and the show. It's the only thing I can do to keep myself from angrily weeping each time I think of the most recent season finale. That show. That freaking show. **

Angels in Parachutes **– The original version was 52 chapters + an Epilogue. The newest version (in which I broke up some of the lengthier sections) is now 64 chapters + the Epilogue, so 65 in total. You're all in for quite the ride! Also, yes, Isis was a new addition. When I rewrote the first chapter, I had this need to give Hera a furry companion and thus, Isis was born. Glad you approve! As for the additional changes, I plan to point out the _major_ rewrites and alterations for certain chapters as they come, but there is a lot of subtler stuff spread throughout. If you catch something you don't recognize and want to know if it's new, feel free to ask! And lastly – for musical inspiration while editing – I was listening to a lot of dark string pieces, and quite a few piano solos. If I have music on at all while I edit, I try to have it be strictly instrumental, so I don't get distracted by lyrics, and the volume is very low – always on the fringes, so it sets a tone but doesn't disturb my process. I also try to read aloud when I can to make sure things flow properly. **

MissVD **– I comb through each chapter a few more times before finally posting them and as of right now, my current schedule does not allow me to do more than one update a week (for the present, anyway). But if that changes, you'll know :) Best of luck on your exams! And for the record, your English is very good for it not being your first language! You have nothing to be ashamed of. Your grasp of the language appears to even be stronger than that of some native speakers!**

FaillinAngelGirl **\- I believe the story you're referring to is** _The Eighth Deadliest Sin_ **\- and it was an Dracula/OC romance. I would certainly like to revisit it someday - give it a thorough scrubbing and tightening up - but I fear that won't be happening any time soon. Right now, I'm up to my eye-balls in my** _Eternal Night_ **trilogy (which is still in the earlier stages). I'm happy you remember these stories though and I hope that you'll enjoy this revamped version of** _Ink on a Page_ **as much as you did the original! :)  
**

 **...**

 **If you guys have any more questions, let me know! I always love hearing your thoughts on the chapter(s) – your impressions, any changes you noticed, what you liked and didn't like, any suggestions for further improvement; I'm open to all of it, so send me a review!**

 **Thanks again for stopping by and I'll see you in the next chapter.**


	5. Proving Her Worth

**Yes, I know. It's not Monday and this chapter has already gone up. I'd explain why, but then my a/n's would be longer than the actual chapter and I don't want to burden you all with what's going on in my life. I do, however, want to thank those who have read, favorited, and followed in the last week. Thank you for your continued support.**

 **I'd also like to sincerely thank those that took the time to review:** Scarlet Empress **,** the invisible reader **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** She-Devil Red **,** 12345678910 **,** Regency Poet **, and the anonymous** Guest **. Your words of approval and encouragement have proven to be a profound source of joy in my life - especially during these mildly tumultuous times when life just continues to be a challenge and I feel like I'm battling everything by myself. Writing is, in part, a bit of an escape for me, but it's also so much more than that, and it's really nice to know that I can rely on you, my dear readers and friends, to be there to support, motivate, and offer advice on how to improve. I am truly grateful and humbled by your generosity and I hope I will continue to be found worthy of it.**

 **Well, Hera is going to start settling into her new life in this chapter. I look forward to hearing your responses and reactions to what transpires and would love to hear any predictions you have for the future. Thank you again for reading (and reviewing, to those that do) and I'll see you for chapter 6 some time next week (hopefully)!**

 _ **Forgive any errors I may have overlooked and enjoy the fan fiction! It's meant to amuse.**_

 **Oh! And before I forget - I was asked a few chapters back to point out any changes I made from the original, as I know there were a few of you who wanted to know. Well, in the first part of this chapter, we get to spend a little bit more time with a more vulnerable Hera, who is still struggling with this drastic alteration in her life and though she is plagued with feelings of uncertainty and even despair, what I really wanted to emphasize in this first part was that despite all of this, Hera still _chooses_ to try and make the most of the situation. I wanted to accentuate her strength and bravery in a more subtle manner here, and I'm hoping I conveyed that well. Please let me know if I did or did not, and if you have any pointers on how or where to improve, as always, please feel free to share!  
**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **V**

 _ **Proving Her Worth**_

Burrowed beneath several layers of blankets and linens lay a half awake Hera, her hood pulled over her head and ear-buds plugged into her ears, desperate to distract her mind from her very new and seemingly permanent reality. The woman studied her iPod in wonder. The batteries had been almost dead when she had been listening to it "in the future" and now that she was in the past, it still hadn't died on her and it had been on for a good hour or two now.

She rolled her eyes at the thought that had just passed through her mind. _Now that she was in the past_ ,… she was actually believing this now.

But what did that mean for Hera? Was she stuck here indefinitely? Would she ever get to see her father again? What about Isis, or Hailey, or François, or any of the other staff? What about her home in England, her room, her books, her tea… _flushable toilets_?

Although depression and a broken heart had been a regular thing for Hera the last few weeks after her break-up with Thomas, a very different kind of sorrow coiled around her heart and had her eyes prickling.

She was out of time and away from home, and with no hope of setting it right.

Hera quickly blinked away tears as she turned up the music in an effort to drown out her own thoughts, desperate to squash the alarming sense of hopelessness she now felt. It would be so easy to lie in this bed and just cry her very heart out, but what would that accomplish? The young woman's rational mind began to coax itself to the foreground of her thoughts.

 _What are the facts_ , Hera silently asked herself.

The facts were that she was in 1887 Transylvania and until she could find a way to time-travel back to where she was from, she was stuck here. After acknowledging that she didn't know when she'd see her father and home again, Hera did her best to box away her fear for the time being as her survival instincts kicked in.

She wasn't just in 1887 Transylvania, she was in a world where things like vampires and Frankenstein's monster existed – which could only mean that werewolves were a real thing as well. Hera's intellectual mind lingered on that thought. Now _that_ would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, she mused. Coming face to face with a werewolf. Despite the obvious dangers, her inner adventurer was fascinated by the prospect.

As her brain began to come to terms with her current situation, it was easier to find the positives – the information she could uncover regarding her dissertation would certainly be easier to come-by. If she ever ran into Dracula again (although Lord forbid) she'd have a primary source to interview regarding the Ottomans and the happenings in this part of the country in general.

And being in the Valerious manor meant that she now had access to the Valerious family archives – centuries of family history dating back to heaven knew when! Hera's inner adventurer was suddenly shoved into the backseat as the historian in her took over and she pushed the covers off her face, allowing the morning air to cool her flushed cheeks.

Her eyes soon found the window, the light of the sun streaming through, illuminating the dark mountains that surrounded the village. Curiosity began to gnaw at her insides, pleading for her to go on an adventure, to climb those mountains, to search for Castle Dracula, to devour the history and soak in this once in a lifetime opportunity.

Still gripping her iPod, Hera held her one link to home close to her heart as she slowly sat up, eyes lingering on those familiar mountains before taking a slow sweep over the room. Although a part of her ached for the comfort of her home and father, if she had been able to communicate with him, she knew what he'd tell her. It's the same thing he told her each time she got homesick whenever she travelled.

"Life is short and unpredictable, _ma fille_ ," Henry Garret would say. "There is so much to learn, so much to see and feel and experience. Don't let your ties to home keep you from living fully, from enjoying all of the pains and joys that the world – past and present – has to offer you. Home will always be here, waiting for you. But for now, wipe your tears and go conquer the world. I'll see you when you get back."

Hera felt the faintest of smiles curving her lips as the words of her father filled her with peace. Although logically speaking she was still unsure if and when she'd ever see him again, she knew wallowing would get her nowhere.

Determined to make the most of things, the young woman crawled out of the bed, shoving her iPod and ear-buds back into her sweatshirt pocket before pulling the hood off her head, examining herself in a mirror on a neighboring wall. Her artificially colored marmalade hair was a curled disaster, but after the smoothing of her hands over the defiant strands a few times, she pulled her hair up into a more dignified and presentable pony.

After washing her face in the frigid water sitting in a basin near the window, Hera decided it was time to go exploring – perhaps not the wild and untamed Carpathians outside her window, but the Valerious manor was certainly an excellent place to start.

With a renewed sense of purpose, providing an excellent distraction for the lingering worries that rested in her gut, Hera emerged quietly from the bedroom, sneaking out into the hall.

She took in her surroundings for a moment or two.

The young woman was presently in a relatively narrow hallway, the walls adorned with tapestries, pictures, and other beautiful things, very simply and elegantly decorated. Deciding it would be best to work from the bottom up, she made her way down the corridor, descending to the first floor. Surprisingly enough, given that it was later in the morning, the house was fairly quiet – no sign of a servant or either of the Valerious siblings anywhere. Not wishing to draw any attention to herself, however, Hera chose continue her exploration in as quiet a manner as possible.

She took note of a slightly open door and decided to peek inside. What she found was the dining room, a long table beside an enormous fireplace and a few large windows at the end of the room. Seated at the end of the table, with a book in hand while eating breakfast, was Prince Velkan.

Hera could feel herself blushing slightly as she recalled the rugged warmth of his face on her hand when she had accidentally brushed his cheek last night upon awakening. She had always liked Velkan in the film, but the fact that he truly existed and looked so much better in real life made her want to giggle like some kind of star-struck fangirl. But she refrained and continued her exploring of the house without disturbing the gypsy prince.

Slipping past the dining room, Hera continued on her little adventure. After a few minutes of looking into rooms, she discovered one that was fascinating enough to actually draw her in and out of the hall: the Valerious library. She knew, simply through instinct, that the family archives upstairs in the tower was where all information on the Valerious line and Count Dracula were, so she'd have to delve into that part of the house later. But for the present, she was contented to explore the hundreds of titles and tomes in this part of the house.

She found the essential encyclopedias and histories, but it was as she continued further through the library that she found some things of interest. The first thing that caught her attention was an original 1532 first edition of Niccolò Machiavelli's _The Prince_ , in its original Italian. Hera's eyes widened in astonishment at the find as she gingerly removed the once banned political treatise.

Although the artifact in her hands was by current standards three-hundred years old, it was in remarkable condition, barely touched.

Beside it, Hera also discovered a third-edition copy of Thomas More's _Utopia_ , and as she continued to peruse the philosophical and political works within this particular section of the library, the scent of books and dust soothed her in ways nothing else could. For the briefest of moments, Hera forgot where she was, for she felt at home.

The young woman explored the library for some time, finding a variety of books in different languages: Romanian, Italian, Latin, Hungarian, and even a handful of English texts. Being fluent in a half-a-dozen languages outside of her native English and being impressively competent in a handful of others, translating the variety of titles among the shelves was second nature. Hera had the wonderful talent that allowed her to retain and recall extensive amounts of information with unnatural ease. Her mind, she had been told on several occasions, was unprecedented, and for the first time in a long while, she was genuinely grateful for that.

The familiarity of the texts, the history, the setting – it made her present situation more palatable and less terrifying. Being subconsciously eager to maintain her current sense of peace, Hera continued to graze through the Valerious library, completely unaware that someone was watching her, following her stealthily through the rows and rows of books., observing as she browsed over each volume and novel in genuine fascination.

Velkan had heard Hera sneaking around and had decided to follow her to see what she would do. Although he knew Anna would disapprove, their mysterious guest from the future intrigued him more than any other woman had before.

The gypsy prince silently took in her appearance from afar and concluded that she looked loveliest when she was leaning against something, which happened to be the bookcase at this present moment in time. He found her hair color different, but beautiful. That marmalade hue looked like it was starting to fade, revealing a more natural looking auburn copper beneath, but in the light of the morning sun, it looked like her head was sprouting strands of fire.

She had a distinctly structured face, with pronounced cheekbones, lovely shaped lips, and the sharpest eyes he had ever seen, second only to Count Dracula. But unlike the vampire, whose gaze was always so cold and critical, Hera's eyes warmed him down to his toes.

Hera's build somewhat reminded him of his sister, Anna – a neat hourglass shape with a defined bust and waist and beautifully shaped hips. As far as appearances went, the woman was a lovely specimen; certainly more attractive than the ones in the village or the few he had seen when his father had taken him to Budapest for the first time. It would appear Anna had some competition now, seeing as how she was no longer the only beautiful woman in Visceria.

His lips curved into a devious smile at how vexed Anna would be if she realized she had competition in anything. She was what he liked to call "silently egotistical."

The gypsy prince had dozens of questions whirling through his head, questions he wanted to ask this captivating stranger: what the future was like, what she knew about his family, the feud, Dracula, how she could help them survive…

 _Well, you won't get far if you just spy on her for the rest of your life_ something mocked inside his head, so he decided to make himself known.

"You know," he said aloud, loving how Hera jumped in surprise, "it's not very polite to be snooping around someone else's home unattended, even if you happen to be a guest."

Hera noticed Velkan at the end of the row of books she was standing in and she smiled warmly at him, blushing slightly as she put the book she had been perusing back in its place.

"I'm sorry, I got bored sitting up in that room and I didn't want to disturb anyone," she explained. She could feel her cheeks flushing and Velkan, having noticed it, decided to tease her.

"The lady blushes?" he flirted and Hera laughed.

"Only because I had no idea I was being spied on," she said, that smile of hers never dissipating; it only became more radiant.

"Forgive me for being so devious, Miss Garret," Velkan replied, "but my other source of entertainment is out riding at the moment, and until Anna gets back, I'm afraid you're stuck with me and my teasing."

Hera rolled her eyes.

"Oh, heaven forbid," she laughed. "And please, call me Hera. 'Miss Garret' is what academics and professors at the university call me. Makes me feel so old." Hera instantly realized she had confused him and the flush in her cheeks deepened in hue. "Sorry. I need to be better at checking what I say. I'm sure half the things that come out of my mouth are bewildering to someone like you."

"Well, considering that you have very little to go on for what we could qualify as experience together, I suppose your accusation could be correct."

Hera smiled and diverted her eyes for a moment. She felt strange with him staring at her like that, smiling, being so polite, so sweet, and so completely unlike how she had imagined him to be. She bravely glanced over at him again.

"I wanted to thank you again for… for what you did for me last night. I thought for certain Dracula was going to kill me."

Velkan took a few steps toward her.

"I'm honestly surprised he didn't," he replied. "He never plays with his food. He's usually very quick and to the point, if you get my meaning."

She chuckled grimly.

"Unfortunately, I do," was her response and she made a face.

"You get used to it after a while."

"You mean I'll reach some sort of morbidity threshold when it comes to Dracula? I can't wait."

"It's not so bad."

"Yes, I suppose so. I mean living an entire lifetime with vampires always threatening your existence. You're in your, what? Late twenties?" she asked. Velkan sent her a curious look and she covered her mouth, realizing what she had said. "Oh gosh, forgive me for being so forward. I keep forgetting that things now and things back then, or rather things in my time and things here in the present are completely different."

The gypsy prince sent her a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry about it, Hera. Actually, I like your forwardness. It's refreshing, and different from all the habitual respect and treatment Anna and I tend to receive. Tell me, are all women in your time as familiar with strangers as you appear to be?"

"No, there are some that are much more familiar than I."

"What are women like in your time?" he asked curiously as they fell into step with one another, wandering about the library together.

"Well, they're not at all like women of this time. Women in the future are, by comparison anyway, very outspoken, liberal minded, and, for the most part, very open when it comes to things like sexuality. They try to act like men a lot of the time, and most are incredibly self-reliant."

"You mean men and women are more like equals?" he clarified.

"Yes. Exactly – or at least, that's what we continue to strive for. We still have a long way to go, however – centuries of traditions and poor thinking habits to undo."

For the next hour or so Velkan would ask questions and Hera would answer them the best she could. They spoke over a hearty breakfast, which turned out to be far more delicious than she had anticipated, considering the rumors she had heard that most Romanian food during this time was bland; wasn't the case at all.

Velkan was fairly knowledgeable in the topics that would suit a prince cursed to fight an ancient evil, but outside of weaponry, the art of hunting, and the history of his country, Velkan wasn't the kind of conversationalist Hera had often found herself craving. She enjoyed talking with him, but their discussion never extended out of the topics he knew best, and though he was naturally curious about her time, he lacked the sufficient understanding of basic sciences and philosophy to really grasp or appreciate what Hera was saying.

He was never unkind or impatient when they spoke regarding subjects that were beyond his expertise, and though Hera could tell when Velkan had grown disinterested with any given topic, she appreciated that he at least tried to appear intrigued. But the fact remained – the only thing the Valerious family worried about or truly cared about was the war with Dracula.

Velkan found Hera's vast and seemingly endless knowledge of the world a bit unnerving, quickly realizing that what she shared with him was a mere scratch on the surface of just how intelligent and academic she was – something that was very odd to the prince, as most of the women he knew were ignorant and had little interest in things like history, politics, science, or the arts.

Truth be told, he soon found himself wondering how a woman of five-and-twenty could have so much information crammed into her head. She was a marvel, and the more he and Hera spoke, the more Velkan realized how crucial it was to keep this woman from Dracula.

Eventually, the two wound up in the armory during Hera's tour of the house. Velkan would show her a piece of weaponry and for the most part she could, on the spot, date how old it was, what it was made of and used for, and what nationality it came from.

"This one is Turkish, specifically Ottoman… late 15th century," Hera explained, running her fingers over the hilt of a beautifully crafted sword. "From the single edge and moderate curvature of the blade, the way the tip flares out, I'd say it's a kilij saber."

Velkan nodded.

"You're right again," he replied. "Tell me Hera, you're obviously very knowledgeable in the history of weaponry, but have you ever wielded a sword?" he asked, handing her the hilt.

"You mean can I duel? Ha! No, no, my father never allowed me to take up swordplay, although I've studied the art enough to have a general understanding of the technique," she explained, returning the weapon to him.

When he took the hilt, his fingers gently, although unintentionally, brushed against hers and he watched as the cool blade ran between her fingers.

"I'm afraid the extent of my knowledge derives from the strictly academic realm – the things you can find in books, like history, philosophy, the sciences, et cetera," she continued. "I can talk war and weapons until I'm blue in the face, but I lack the hands-on experience of a seasoned warrior."

Anna suddenly entered the room, intruding on the little moment between her brother and Hera, having heard, however, their entire conversation.

Eavesdropping and spying clearly ran in the family.

"That's rather discouraging," Anna interjected. "How do you expect to survive if you can't defend yourself?"

"Anna, for heaven's sake, let it go," Velkan pleaded, embarrassed by his sister's tactlessness. Then again… that was Anna. Could he expect anything less from her?

"I'm merely speaking the truth Velkan," she insisted. "Tell me Hera, when you come face to face with death again, as I'm sure you shall, how do you plan on getting yourself out of that predicament? How are you expecting to survive if you can't defend yourself?"

Hera shrugged as she began to examine one of the smaller guns on display while Anna took the Turkish blade out of Velkan's hand so she could put it away.

"Psychology has always worked for me," Hera shrugged, smiling over at Velkan. "I can usually talk myself out of anything and everything."

Anna rolled her eyes.

"You'll soon learn that here in Transylvania, it takes skill to survive. Brains are only good for strategies to destroy an opponent. That's it."

Hera, although calm on the surface, was growing weary of Anna's belligerence. She never imagined the gypsy princess to be so inconsiderate and rude. Suspicious and untrusting, sure, but not so confrontational. Apparently, she had been wrong in that assumption.

"And what if you don't have a sword at the ready, Anna? What then? What happens when you're stripped of your weapons and all you have is your wit and intellect – or the lack thereof?" Hera challenged as casually as she could.

She could see the warning look Velkan was shooting her, but it was too late. Anna had already turned to confront her.

"You can't fight Dracula with words," Anna snapped irritably. "The man can only be defeated through action."

The sound of a loud bang suddenly resonated within the confines of the armory and Anna yelped in surprise and covered her ears in a futile effort to protect them from what sounded like a gunshot.

Velkan and Anna both noticed that Hera was completely unmoved by the sound. In fact, she had the very gun that had gone off in her hand and it had been blindly aimed at a large and now very dead rat that had been scurrying silently across the floor, and no one had even noticed it, except Hera.

Anna looked up at the woman in astonishment, realizing that what she had assumed was an ignorant stranger admiring a handgun had actually been the stealthy loading and priming of a weapon by a very intelligent and observant woman maybe a year or two younger than she. Anna had never seen the rodent in the first place and Hera's gaze had always been on the princess' eyes whenever she had been speaking.

Hera had been so unassuming, Anna had never even suspected.

A silent conversation of looks took place between the Valerious siblings as Anna realized, just as Velkan had, how important it was to keep someone like Hera away from Dracula. Anna may not have been entirely convinced of the woman as Velkan clearly was, but throwing her to the wayside would have been extremely stupid.

"I take it back," Anna said at last, eyes finding Hera again. "It would appear you _can_ handle yourself."

"I'm honored to have your approval, since it is apparently so difficult to earn," their guest replied with noted mirth and the princess chuckled.

"Can you blame me?"

"No, I suppose not. I can appreciate your skepticism, but I hope you can at least give me the benefit of the doubt now."

"Of course," she replied sheepishly. "I think it's safe to say that you've earned at least that."

"You'll have to forgive my sister, Hera," Velkan explained. "Anna has always preferred to test a person's skills and allegiances before giving them the time of day."

"That is very understandable, considering your circumstances," was all Hera said on the matter, and Anna was grateful for the understanding.

"I just posted a letter to father this morning while I was out," Anna announced. "Until he returns, you're to stay with us."

"I'd like that."

"The room you slept in last night will be yours for the duration of your stay. And I'm assuming Velkan has already given you a tour of the house."

"The more important rooms, anyway," Velkan explained and Anna nodded in approval.

"Once we find you some more suitable clothes, I'll inform the housekeeper that you'll be staying with us. For the time being, I think it would be best if you remained on the grounds of the manor, until we get everything else sorted."

"I appreciate the consideration. Thank you, Anna," Hera nodded with a smile and she watched as the icy façade that shrouded the gypsy princess began to melt.

"If you'll come with me, I'm sure I have a few things that you could wear. You have nothing against trousers, I assume?" and she motioned for Hera to follow, leading her towards the door as Velkan watched the two women leave.

Anna's guarded civility towards Hera would gradually dissipate into genuine regard over the next three days as the princess came to realize that this woman from the future was a far greater blessing to her family than she had initially anticipated. Not only was Hera understanding and intelligent, Anna secretly felt a strange kind of relief in having a friend who was of the same gender as she. The princess had never had many friends outside of her family and as the days progressed, Hera was rapidly proving to be the exception.

Velkan, on the other hand, was still trying to organize his feelings for the newcomer, but he was certain of one thing: Hera Garret was an amazing woman and she created the most peculiar and astonishing things inside of him. Her beauty left him oddly spellbound and her hidden depths captivated him. Unlike the shy and flirtatious women in the village, Hera was warm and open, opinionated, and feisty when provoked.

Hera spent most if not all of her time with Velkan and Anna, and within the corresponding two to three weeks that followed, she had become fast friends with the Valerious siblings, particularly with Velkan, who took it upon himself to make sure Hera was never alone.

The young woman also became well-known amongst the people of Visceria, although no one had any idea where she was from. All they knew was that despite her peculiar accent and bewildering sense of familiarity, she was a delight to be around. There was hardly a waking hour that went by when Hera and Velkan weren't doing something together. He started to teach her how to fence, although she still preferred firearms to steel.

As the weeks passed, Hera remained blissfully ignorant to the fact that she was being watched from a distance, day and night. During the day, particularly when it was cloudy out, it happened to be by three sets of eyes that observed from a safe distance.

But it was in the night, when she slept in the comfort and seclusion of her own room in the Valerious manor that a different pair of eyes watched her, and these were far more intrigued by her than any other that had ever examined her from near or afar. And Hera never knew, though she suspected at times, in the back of her mind when her imagination would run wild.

The provincial lifestyle she had adopted was soon to alter, however, as the alliance that had once seemed so simple and harmless – so neutral – would be quickly turned upside down.


	6. The Fragmentation of a Concubine

**So, I was going to make you wait until either the weekend or next week at the latest for this one, but I was doing a final comb-through of it and forgot how much I thoroughly enjoyed this particular chapter. That, and then RegencyPoet (who happens to be a dear friend of mine) suggested I post it today so I guess you can thank her as you're getting the chapter now instead of later. ;)**

 **But before I toddle off to go drown myself in work (being an independent adult is SO not what it's all cracked up to be), I wanted to thank those who reviewed chapter 5 -** the invisible reader **,** Scarlet Empress **,** She-Devil Red **,** Noface **,** Bloodsired **(of course I remember you!),** RegencyPoet **, and the anonymous** Guest **\- this one is for you guys!**

 **Would love to hear your thoughts on this most recent installment. This chapter has just a little bit of Dracula in it, near the end, but have no fear. He'll make a _proper_ appearance very soon. Patience, my lovelies. ;)**

 _ **Forgive any errors I may have overlooked and enjoy!**_

* * *

 **VI**

 _ **The Fragmentation of a Concubine**_

Jovial sounds resonated off the high ceiling within the dining room of the Valerious manor as tears streamed down the company's faces. They continued laughing heartily in their seats, some clutching their stomachs in attempt to dull the pain of aching muscles, others covering their beet-red faces.

Hera couldn't remember the last time she had laughed this hard; in fact, the experience almost seemed foreign to her as she wiped the tears from her flushed cheeks, struggling to regain her composure. Velkan continued to chuckle as he motioned toward his hysteric sister.

"Anna, I cannot believe you," he exclaimed, finally managing to calm down. Anna, however, was still struggling. "Could you imagine what would happen if you said that to the Count's face?"

Hera chortled before taking another sip of her wine.

"I think she's too hysteric, Velkan, to even care," she pointed out.

Anna wiped the tears from her cheeks as she attempted once more to regain her composure.

"I just can't believe I had a dream about him… and in _that_ setting, of all settings!" Anna replied. "I mean seriously! He was in a dress, Velkan! A dress!"

Hera started giggling once more at the thought of the dream Anna had shared with them over dinner. She could still see in her mind's eye, Velkan shooting wine out of his nose when he had first started to laugh and that mental image made Hera's laughter even harder to control.

"Anna, I think you've had too much to drink," Velkan teased, earning a playful smack from his sister. Eventually though, the merriment died down and they continued to eat once more.

"So," Hera began, not exactly a fan of the silence, "it would appear that Count Dracula is much more than your family's enemy. He is clearly an excellent source of entertainment as well."

"That monster has played a very personal role in every Valerious' life," Velkan said between mouthfuls of food. "There have been some ancestors of ours who were never killed directly by him, but were driven to madness _because_ of him."

"You mean, some of the deaths in your family have been indirect," Hera clarified with a more serious tone.

"Yes," Anna replied. "There was one particular ancestor of ours, whom legend tells was driven so mad by the Count that he believed his wife was Dracula's lover and that his son had been conceived in an orgy involving the vampire's brides. He killed his family while they were sleeping, driving wooden stakes through their hearts and then chopping off their heads in their own beds before killing himself by ingesting poison. No one found the family until three days later when someone had passed by and complained to the local magistrate of the smell."

"Please Anna, we're eating!" Velkan insisted, but nobody seemed to hear him.

"He killed his own family?" Hera replied, too astonished to believe it.

Anna nodded her head grimly.

"That's just one of the tales," she answered, taking another drink while Hera sat back in her seat, finishing off the potatoes on her plate.

"How is it that you have all managed to stay sane through this? I mean, being hunted since birth, never really enjoying much of a normal childhood…"

"It sounds rather grim, yes, but when it comes down to it, all this family really knows is death," Anna explained.

"But we have had our share of pleasures in life, despite our legacy," Velkan added, not liking the pessimistic mood in the room. "There were moments, when our country needed it most, when Dracula proved to be a great ally in the times of war against the Turks and other invaders. But when Transylvania enjoys relative peace, that's when the feud starts up once more."

"Supposedly, the Count is a military genius," Anna added. "Everyone is surprised that it's taken him over four centuries to finish off our family."

"Perhaps you prove a greater challenge than he initially anticipated," Hera offered, completely unaware of the small smile and thoughtful staring of Velkan, aimed in her direction.

"How much do you know about Count Dracula, Hera?" Velkan suddenly asked, the question catching the woman slightly off guard.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean just that. How much do you know? _What_ do you know? Do you only know about just the legend of Dracula, or do you know the history of the man himself?"

Hera sat back in her seat for a moment or two, looking rather thoughtful as she pondered his question before answering it.

"I know a great deal about both subjects, to be honest, but I find it's always been rather difficult to distinguish what is fact and what is mere folk-lore. Which reminds me of a question I wanted to ask you two – how did this whole feud begin? I mean, there are several versions of the story; I'm just curious as to which one is true and which isn't."

Anna and Velkan glanced over at each other and both shrugged.

"We don't really know how it began, to be honest with you," Anna replied. "It's just been somewhat of a 'family tradition,' if you will. I'm sure the whole story is up in the family archives somewhere. You're welcome to check it out, if you wish."

"I'll probably take you up on that offer," Hera replied with a slight smile.

When they had finished eating, the servants came in to clean, leaving the three to congregate in the library where the brandy was then distributed.

"Why are you so interested in Count Dracula?" Velkan wondered aloud as they made their way out of the dining room.

"I don't really know," Hera admitted a little sheepishly. "Ever since I was a little girl and had first heard his name, something about him intrigued me. Finding information on the man himself is rather difficult to do. I guess you could say it's almost as difficult as killing the vampire himself," she added playfully as Velkan stealthily slipped his arm around hers, chuckling at her comment.

"Yes, that task is proving to be near impossible," the gypsy prince remarked. "No matter how close we get, he always seems to be one step ahead of us."

"He's had over four centuries of experience, Velkan. Give the man some credit," Hera replied, taking a seat in one of the sofas by the fire.

"Well, even our ancestors faced the same problem," Anna explained. "Our forefathers, after Dracula's creation, became a legendary group of gypsy vampire hunters. History says that each time Dracula was supposedly 'destroyed,' it was always by a Valerious, which is rumored to be one of the reasons why he loathes our family so much. But," and the princess sighed heavily, "it would appear he continues to outwit us. I mean, in the last ten years alone we've shot him, stabbed him, clubbed him, staked him through the heart, sprayed him with holy water, dragged him into the sun, and _still_ he lives! Nobody knows how to kill Dracula. Well, nobody, that is, except you, albeit allegedly."

The frustration in Anna's voice was not lost on Hera, and although the two had grown to become good friends, it was evident that the gypsy princess still wasn't too happy with the fact that Hera knew how to destroy their family's greatest enemy and wouldn't tell them… or _couldn't_ as she had often insisted.

"Anna, I-"

"Don't worry about it. It's not your fault that demon won't stay dead. I don't know why he just won't let us finish the job; nobody would miss him anyway."

Hera sent Anna a mildly censorious look.

"That's awfully cold, of you, Anna," Hera suddenly said, earning strange looks from both of the Valerious siblings. "I understand that you resent him and those like him for what he's reportedly done to your relatives, but I wouldn't be so quick to condemn when you can't even tell me why the feud began in the first place. Did it ever once occur to you that Dracula was a man once? That for all intents and purposes, he still is one? He lived once. He was actually a great man at one stage, a warrior and this nation's hero. And despite everything, I believe that there are still elements of that which remain."

Anna sent Hera a bewildered look.

"If you're suggesting that monster is a human-being with emotions, I hate to ruin your unnervingly admirable view of him, but Count Dracula was and still is to this day, nothing more than a demon from hell sent to torment and murder my family."

"Anna's right, Hera," Velkan replied as delicately as he could, sensing an argument brewing between the two females. "Dracula, when he was alive, killed hundreds of thousands of people, Turks and Transylvanians alike, and he did it without remorse. That man, no matter what you desire to think, has been a monster for all his life. He feels nothing and cares for no one outside of himself."

Hera sensed that she was grossly outnumbered when it came to her opinion, and as she sat there, lying under the hard and borderline offended expressions of the prince and princess, she found herself uncomfortable with their accusations and eager willingness to pass judgment on a person she was certain they didn't even know.

Hera stood up from her seat and moved over to the open window that led out to the terrace, in sudden need of some fresh air.

"But isn't it even remotely possible," she continued, "that all of this could just be one big misunderstanding? You forget, I know the tales of Prince Vlad of the house Drăculești. I've heard the nightmarish crimes he was accused of, but I also know that a great many of his crimes were born out of rumor and exaggeration, advertised as truth by the Turks and the Germanic peoples in the surrounding countries. They were afraid of him because for a time, he was unstoppable. He was a fierce patriot and devoted his life to protecting his people. I refuse to be so quick to judge him."

The looks she was now receiving from both Velkan and Anna were borderline horror.

Was she being… _sympathetic_?

"History has proven to be grossly inaccurate hundreds of times," Hera explained, "and my gut tells me that this just might be one of those instances. I'm not saying that he didn't do some of those monstrous things, that the struggles your family has been forced to endure at his hand aren't valid. Nor am I suggesting that he deserves to be immediately forgiven for the crimes he commits today, but I…"

Hera exhaled loudly as she leaned against the open window, staring out at the night sky.

"…I can't help but think that buried deep within that vampire is the man who existed centuries ago, the man of valor, honor, and respectability. I think the reason why he became the monster he was and is, is because he was driven. No man or woman is born evil. It is our circumstances and our choices that shape who we are."

"Even if what you say is true," Anna interrupted, "that doesn't excuse what he's done. He is still an evil man."

"But is anyone ever thoroughly bad? Don't all villains view themselves as the heroes of their own stories in one light or another? Don't we all justify our actions? I know enough of history and people to understand that moral absolutes are a rarity. People aren't strictly black and white as you like to think they are – often times they are shadows of gray."

Hera turned around and glanced at both Anna and Velkan who were watching her now with keen interest, all three of them completely unaware of the pair of attentive ears that were listening within the shadows outside the window.

"I mean, consider for a moment – how could a man of God, someone who worshiped and fought in God's name, turn so horrifically evil all of a sudden as you suggested over dinner?"

No one had an answer to that question. In fact, this new light that Hera was shedding on the Valerious' sworn enemy was both alarming and difficult to swallow. She moved out onto the terrace, staring out at the stars as she continued.

"What drives someone to change so drastically? To leave all they knew behind, to forget the ones they loved for a life bound to the devil's chain. To become Lucifer's whore?"

Hera's speech came to a halt as she abruptly turned to look beside her, and in a movement that was momentarily confusing, the woman suddenly threw a punch into the shadows. But the accompanying sound of a woman's cry and a bone crunching smack quickly followed and after a flash of white and pale green with a head of dark hair was seen tumbling over the edge of the terrace, Velkan and Anna realized what it was that Hera had just struck:

Verona.

Hera was now rubbing her hand, wincing.

"Damn it, that woman has a face of steel!" she groaned.

"How did you… I didn't even…" Anna began, but Hera managed a chuckle, despite the pain her knuckles were in.

"I could see the remnants of her dress floating in the breeze. Well that, and the overpowering stench of death kind of gave her away."

Velkan smirked.

"Impressive."

"Does she eavesdrop on you two often?" Hera inquired and the Valerious siblings both shrugged.

"Not that we know of, although now that you mentioned it… "Anna shrugged.

"Remind me in the morning that we need to beef up your security."

"Is your hand okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. Verona has to be my least favorite bride of them all," Hera explained, although the proclamation was only partially true. She had a sneaking suspicion that the woman she had just assaulted could hear her just fine. "That neck thing makes me want to scratch my eyes out, her shrilling voice makes my ears bleed, and her doormat personality in general makes me physically ill. That, and she's completely flat. I mean, what is she? A boy in a dress?"

Anna laughed at Hera's insulting description, but stopped suddenly when she saw who had just appeared on the terrace behind Hera.

"Hera! Behind you!" Velkan shouted, moving toward her, but a moment too late.

As quickly as Hera had turned around, Verona had the woman by the throat, a look of promised death in her glowing eyes. The bride's once lovely face was now marred with a terrifying rage as her fangs lengthened and her jaw began to extend in a very unnatural manner, irises burning bright as her complexion drained of color.

" _How dare you!_ " the vampire hissed as she clenched down on Hera's slender neck, pressing down on her windpipe and bruising the recently healed flesh. Velkan shouted the woman's name and took a step forward to intervene, but the bride let out a roar in his direction, her expression threatening. "Another step closer and she dies!"

Velkan stopped in his tracks in a stubborn, yet obedient fashion. Anna made a move to see if she could succeed where her brother had failed, but to no avail. Verona noticed the princess' step and she hissed in warning, her grip intensifying around Hera's throat and the mortal let out a raspy cry of distress as she grabbed hold of the Verona's wrist, trying to pry the vampire's bony, but powerful hand from her neck.

 _Like-mistress-like-master_ Hera thought comically to herself, but the pain was suffocating her humor rather quickly.

Verona was a force to be reckoned with her own right, but she wasn't nearly as powerful her master, which provided Hera with the ability to pry Verona's hand away just slightly so she could gasp for air every now an then. She looked directly into the vampire's eyes in a brave fashion as she struggled for a proper breath.

"Hello, Verona," Hera gasped. "At last we meet."

Verona's attention, which had been on the Valerious siblings, returned to her newfound prisoner, a look of intrigue in her menacing gaze.

"Tell me, how long have you been spying on me?" Hera asked, still fighting to free herself from the vampire's grasp.

Apparently, these Transylvanian vampires had a thing for strangling people.

"That is none of your concern," Verona snapped, struggling against the mortal's concerted effort to remove her hand.

The vampire's fangs sank back into her mouth slightly, but her eyes remained in their luminous state as she stared Hera down, trying to capture her mind but the mortal was smarter and stronger willed than the bride had anticipated.

"Actually, I do believe it is of my concern," Hera replied boldly, each couple of words separated by a desperate gasp for air. "Considering the fact that it is _my_ privacy that is being invaded."

Dracula's eldest bride flashed Hera an amused grin, her spirit and wit in the given situation deeply amusing. Therefore, as a reward, Verona loosened her grip, allowing Hera more air, but still she held her in her hand in case the mortal should test her patience.

"You are very bold, Miss Garret, to not only speak in such a manner considering your predicament, but to strike me? Very foolish indeed. I don't see why my master takes such interest in you."

Verona had unwittingly said too much in those few sentences and it was all Hera needed to arm herself.

"Your master has taken an interest in me?" Hera asked. "I'm flattered to be the subject of such admiration, and from such a powerful man, too."

Verona laughed.

"You are excessively diverting indeed. I can see why these Valerious swine have taken such a liking to you," the bride replied, glancing up at the gypsy prince, who blushed slightly. "Particularly a certain prince…"

Hera glanced over at Velkan and then looked back at Verona.

"Most men take a liking to me, one way or another," Hera answered with noted arrogance. "It would appear even pompous-ass vampire kings do, too."

"I would not speak so disrespectfully of my master if I were you," Verona warned, her grip tightening on Hera's throat again. "He is more powerful than you could ever imagine. What would he need a mortal for?"

"What would he need three wives for? I figure one would be enough."

That was certainly the wrong thing to say, and Hera discovered that the moment her air supply was cut off. But the comment was necessary, as Verona was unwittingly walking into a verbal trap. Hera gripped the bride's wrist with both hands, trying to pull it away from her neck so she could speak.

"He doesn't love you, Verona. You know this," Hera managed. Verona glared at the mortal woman in her hand with such hatred, such malevolence; but Hera could see the hint of doubt in the vampire's eyes. Hera needed to feed that doubt. "Why would he sire two more brides if he loved only you? You're nothing but a whore to him, Verona, a vessel to carry and deliver his young. The means to an end. Something with which to pass the time."

Verona now placed both hands on the woman's neck and she pressed down hard, depriving Hera completely of air and she watched as tears ran down the mortal's face.

"Lies!" the bride hissed. "My master loves me! He loves us all the same!"

Hera dug her nails into the vampire's dead flesh, getting her to recoil for just a few precious seconds, just enough time she needed to gasp for more air.

"Then where are your sisters?" Hera rasped.

God help her, Hera could already feel the bruises forming. Tears of pain were now pouring from her eyes, but she had managed to get a single finger between her neck and Verona's hand, which gave her barely enough oxygen to continue speaking.

"Why does he send you away while your younger sisters stay behind?"

Hera's head began to throb as her body fought to feed her brain the blood and oxygen it was being deprived of, but to no avail. She slowly began to shrink beneath the vampire's grip to the point where she was certain she was going to die, when at long last, Verona shoved her up against the outside wall on the terrace, releasing her throat.

Hera fell to the ground at the woman's feet as she gasped for air, coughing violently while gingerly touching her freshly bruised neck to assess the damage.

After recovering, Hera blinked her tears away and she looked up at the very noble and lovely bride towering over her, the vampire's eyes gazing out at the night sky. Hera recognized the expression in the woman's eyes for she had possessed it herself on many occasion. It was one of confusion, hurt, and the deepest amount of doubt, the kind that gnawed at one's insides like rot to wood.

"You know I speak the truth," Hera managed, her voice still a little raspy. "And you cannot deny it."

Verona glanced down at the mortal who was still kneeling on the ground at her feet.

Although her loyalties pleaded with her not to do it, Verona, with a wave of her hand, shut and locked the windows that led from the terrace to the library and she shut the drapes, forbidding the Valerious' to listen. Their protestations and struggle to get outside could be heard from within, though somewhat muted.

Hera looked up at the vampire expectantly, but Verona's face showed no sign of maliciousness or foul intent. In fact, she appeared rather desperate.

"What am I to do?" she asked Hera in hushed tones, the Count's most powerful bride now appearing to be more like a mortal woman, desperate for guidance. The bride could see in the human's expression the confusion that possessed her mind, why someone who had just tried to kill her was now asking for her help. Verona answered Hera's unasked question. "You're the neutral piece on the board, Hera Garret. Desired on both sides, but refusing to choose one."

Hera managed to climb to her feet.

"How do you know I haven't chosen a side?" she asked carefully.

"If you had, you would not have been defending my master as you had been just moments ago," Verona pointed out.

"I wasn't defending him," Hera quickly countered, "merely pointing out the flaws in the Valerious' mode of thought. Although, admittedly, I've never really liked being in the middle of fights, no matter how trivial they seem. But I hate picking sides even more. Even though both have their aspects that seem honorable and right, each one holds fault in some way. Understand, though, Verona, the Valerious' are my friends, even if they are your enemies. But I have no quarrel with you."

The vampire's lips curved into a pleased smile.

"I am glad to hear it," she answered. "From what I've observed of you in the last few weeks, it would be most unfortunate to have you as an enemy, Hera Garret."

Hera couldn't help but chuckle at the comment, although doing so sent her into another fit of coughs.

"That is very gracious of you, Verona. Thank you. A pity your master is too blind to see what he has in you. Most men are. In fact, now that I think about it, it was because of a man that you joined the Count, is it not?"

Hera's comment took Verona by surprise.

"How did you…?"

"I think I read something about you once, I just never drew the parallel until now. His name was David, wasn't it?" Verona didn't answer, but Hera could tell by her expression that she had, in essence, hit the nail on the head. "The only man who ever truly loved you, and you left him because of an argument and an offer of power."

"I was a young, naïve fool," Verona explained anxiously. "When the master came along, I…" Hera noticed the hint of sadness in Verona's eyes. "…I was smitten by him. He warned me that he would never love me, but he offered me protection, affection when I needed it, a place to stay, everything I wanted—money, silks, gold, jewels—he offered me an immortality of being comfortable and beautiful, of having a home. What I failed to realize was that I already had all I needed in David…"

Hera listened intently to the vampire, this new piece of information intriguing.

"Do you love him, Verona? Do you love Count Dracula?"

The bride thought about it before answering.

"I am devoted to him, but he has never shown such devotion to me. I am to compete with two other women for his attention and though there are moments when I truly believe he harbors some kind of affection for me, it is not enough. I am not enough… not for him," she answered sorrowfully.

Hera opened the window that led into the library as she turned to go back inside and the moment she did so, Anna and Velkan advanced quickly to attack, but Hera held her hand up in defense, placing herself in front of the vampire on the terrace, puzzling all parties in attendance.

"Leave her be," Hera insisted. "She won't hurt anyone. Not now." Hera turned toward Verona and smiled sadly. "She knows the truth."

"What truth?" Anna asked, but Hera never answered her question.

"Go home, Verona. We will fight another day," and with that, Verona took off into the night sky.

They watched Dracula's eldest bride disappear into the night, and the moment she vanished from view, Anna grabbed Hera by the arm rather forcefully and confronted her.

"What is the matter with you?" she shouted. "We had the perfect opportunity to kill her! One less vampire in the world! Why did you let her go?"

"Oh so we should have taken advantage of the fact that she was off her guard just now?" Hera snapped without missing a beat. "She's not _just_ another monster for you to murder, Anna. She may not be human like you anymore, Anna, but she's not completely devoid of feeling or principles! Or is that truth too inconvenient for you?"

Anna's mouth shut instantly as Hera stepped toward her with an authority that neither she nor Velkan had ever witnessed in her before.

"I never said I was on your side in this war, Anna Valerious," Hera shot angrily. "I never asked to join one side versus another. Don't think for one minute that I don't know why you offered to let me stay here. It's so you can watch me, so you can make sure I stay out of your enemy's hand. Well that's fine, and I appreciate the courtesy. Lord knows I have no desire to seek shelter with a nest of rapacious vampires. But let me be perfectly plain – I am neutral in this battle and I will remain that way. I have no quarrel with you or with Dracula and until one side proves itself to be more right than the other, then and only then will I make a choice. But neither has offered me such, and until that time comes, it would be best if you didn't expect me to do what you do so easily – kill without thinking, judge what you do not grasp, hate what you cannot understand!"

With that, Hera stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

The flight home felt longer than Verona remembered it being as she soared over the snow-capped Carpathians towards her master's sanctuary: the icy fortress. She had always known the Count never truly loved her, but perhaps she had convinced herself that he had, once upon a time and in his own way. But now, with this evening's events and Hera's words stewing with her already existent insecurities, Verona couldn't help but feel like she had been betrayed, betrayed by her own feelings and emotions.

She loved the Count, or at least, she thought she did.

Now she wasn't even sure, and not being certain made her terribly uneasy.

Verona caught sight of Castle Dracula and she flew down and into the foyer with grace and ease. Instead of making her way through the front room and towards the stairs, she lingered for a time, observing and appreciating what surrounded her for a few solitary moments.

The sight of her unborn young littering the ceiling of the foyer was a bittersweet sight. Maybe Count Dracula did love her? He had, after all, pursued the means of bringing their offspring to life because it was what she wished. Wasn't that a sign of love, or at the very least affection?

She could still remember the first time her master had brought her here, after he had sired her. It had just been the two of them at that time, all of his attentions and devotions on her and her alone. Now, as the incessant giggling and unrestrained moaning from upstairs reminded her, she had to share those attentions and devotions.

Dracula's eldest bride had never been particularly fond of the concept of sharing. She had always been rather possessive, but she also had always been very private about her feelings, very submissive when it came to her needs. What her master desired always came first. She had made that pledge all those centuries ago, and since then her devotions and loyalties were to him and him alone. If that meant sharing him with two other women, Verona had never had the desire or inclination to protest.

Until tonight.

The bride moved effortlessly up the long staircase in which she passed her master's office, the door wide open so she could see what was transpiring within the room. Aleera and Marishka were busy pleasuring their master and the Count, who was understandably distracted by the present dalliance, was completely unaware that his eldest had returned.

Verona stood in the hall, silently observing as her younger sisters kissed and fondled one another andtheir master, who despite his present state, seemed virtually unmoved by their attentions.

Everything in his eyes was so distant, as if he oozed obligation, and for the first time in her life, Verona could see it and she silently hated him for his deception. She resented him for lying to her, for making her believe. Although ignorance had been a wonderful thing, she realized she could never go back to it – not when the brazen truth was staring her unabashedly in the face.

Dracula's gaze caught that of Verona as he finally sensed her presence and he extended his hand to her from beneath the tangled flesh of his avid lovers.

"Ah, my devoted one, what news from Visceria?" he asked.

Verona, in any normal situation, would have come to him, heeded his calls, joined in with her sisters and losing herself to the carnal gratification that came with pleasing her master. But right now, all she did was stare at the scene before her, and though Verona was no prude, she was disgusted by what she saw.

"Nothing of interest, my lord," she said with barely constrained ice.

"Nothing of interest?" Marishka cooed, her shameless behavior that had never phased Verona before, now repulsing her. "What a sad waste of time."

As much as she hated Aleera, she found herself despising Marishka even more, especially in that moment. Aleera was still new, easy to manipulate, to frighten into submission – but Marishka. Marishka had long outgrown her fear of the eldest.

The dark-haired woman's glare was frigid.

"I find it a sad waste of time being a mindless strumpet versus a devoted servant, Marishka," came her refute, the frostiness in her tone catching the attention of all in her presence. " _Clearly_ , you know and see very little difference between the two, when the distinction is more apparent than you think. Then again, you're a just a harlot and nothing more. One shouldn't expect anything less… from _either_ of you."

With that, Verona walked briskly down the hall, ignoring the look of astonishment on both Aleera and Marishka's faces, along with her master's calls for her to return. She instead materialized to the other side of the fortress, walking briskly down an abandoned hall, searching for some place of solitude.

At last, she found it – a small sitting room, filled with old, dusty cobweb-covered furniture. She shut the door behind her and moved into the unused room, sitting down beside the window at the far wall in the dark, soon staring up at the full moon outside as she felt foreign tears prickling in her eyes. They clouded her vision before spilling over her dark lashes, freezing as they ran down her unblemished cheeks.

Why was she so upset? She had never been bothered much about her situation before, where had this sense of conscience come from? Why did this hurt so badly?

Verona knew why… but the Count was at a loss.

He stood in the shadows of the room, his presence unknown to her, simply because he wished it. But his eyes observed in the darkness, wondering what had caused his most devoted and loyal of brides to be so cold and unfeeling, so testy and bold, and so… uncharacteristically miserable.

What had made her say the things she had?

Why did she even care?

What had happened in Visceria tonight, he wondered silently to himself.

But he wouldn't find out any time soon. Only two people could give him that information. One would refuse to do so, and the other would remain unknown to him. For the time being, anyway.


	7. Winning Their Hearts

**So you all may be wondering "why the hell is Remember updating AGAIN?" Firstly - don't complain ;) Secondly, and more importantly, I must confess, I just really want to get to chapter 9. Chapter 9 is where Dracula and Hera cross paths again and I know a lot of you are very eager for that to happen. That chapter is seriously one of my favorites in the entire story** (and I mean that in a very non-arrogant way. It was just super fun to right, that's all) **and I REALLY want to share the improved version with you, but we have a bit more to get through before we arrive at that point in the story. Once we get there, I'm sure my posting will be less erratic and more predictable. But in the meantime, relish in the fact that I seem to be updating like a madwoman - please and thank you.**

 **A huge shout-out to those that reviewed the last chapter! Seriously, I know you're probably all tired of hearing me say it, but I _love_ you for reviewing and I seriously want to hug each of you individually for doing so. **

**Your feedback** (in all it's glorious forms) **means the world to me and I can't thank you enough for the time you take to not just read each new chapter, but for telling me what you thought - sometimes in-depth and at length. I can't even begin to articulate what that means to me as a writer. So thank you! Chocolate shaped Dracula's for all!** *cackles*

 **Alright my friends - let's see what happens when Boris comes home from a hunting trip, and then we can check in on the state of Dracula and Verona's relationship.**

* * *

 **VII**

 _ **Winning Their Hearts**_

Hera hadn't been able to sit still all day.

To own the truth, she couldn't remember the last time she had felt so anxious. Boris Valerious, king of the gypsies, was to arrive home within the hour and Hera found herself dreadfully nervous. Over the past month and a half since her arrival here, she had come to fit in rather nicely in Visceria and the Valerious Manor; and now with the imminent arrival of Anna and Velkan's father, there was a very real chance that come the end of the evening, she could find herself homeless – or worse, in a dungeon.

The Valerious siblings had done their best to put Hera's mind at ease over the last three days since Boris' letter had arrived, informing them of his return. Anna, although the two of them still had their differences, was still a very good friend of Hera's and as she oversaw the preparations of the estate, she tried to assure the young woman that everything would be fine and Boris would love her.

Velkan, on the other hand, had been rather withdrawn since his father's letter had arrived, and though Hera had noticed the change in him, she said nothing on the subject.

As of right now, she was still pacing about in her room in an agitated manner, wringing her hands in an effort to keep from biting her nails in nervous anticipation. She was in an outfit that suited her well, something that would hopefully impress Anna and Velkan's warrior father. Her red hair was pulled back into a careless twist, as she was too restless to do anything else with the mess of curls.

While the house remained in a buzz with preparations for their king's return, Hera was making herself sick with worry, anxious to make a good impression simply because Boris was the one to decide whether or not she would be staying here permanently, and even though Anna and Velkan had been assuring her all day that she'd be fine, their confidence didn't seem to soothe the woman's troubled mind.

Hera grabbed her iPod and began to listen to some music, seeing if that would calm her down. Shockingly enough, her iPod was still working, and though she couldn't explain the miracle, she was grateful for it. Her music proved to be her sanctuary, that thing that kept her anchored amidst the lunacy.

A knock at her door interrupted her solitude and she turned to see the comfortingly familiar face of Velkan peeking in from the hall. She removed the ear buds and put the iPod back under her pillow where she usually left it, managing a smile as gypsy prince entered her room, shutting the door behind him.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Absolutely!" she fibbed, but he saw right through her.

"You know, you're a terrible liar," he replied with a smile, leaning against the post of her bed. She turned to face him, laughing rather sheepishly.

"I know. God, I'm so nervous, I can hardly stand it," and she started fidgeting with her hands again. "I don't know what's wrong with me, but I'm a wreck!" she proclaimed and she started to pace once more. "Velkan what if he doesn't like me? What if he sends me away? What if he throws me out of the house and then Dracula swoops in and makes me his prisoner… _oh_ _God forbid!_ Could you imagine? Me living with that… that _man_ and those three women! I don't think my poor neck could take any more strangulation attempts."

Velkan laughed.

"Hera, I don't think it's possible for anyone to not like you. You happened to prove that a few nights ago. Remember? With Verona?"

Hera only continued to pace, unconvinced.

"But what if your father doesn't like me?" she asked him once more. "I mean, what if he thinks I'm stupid, or weak, or pitiful… or! Or what if he doesn't like my red hair? You do realize that red hair is the hair of the devil – or at least that's what François used to tell me when I was a child, but I think he did it because he knew he could get a rise out of me. But what if I mess up, or what if he thinks that I'm ugly and he kicks me out of the house because he can't stand the sight of me?!"

Velkan's laugh resonated in his belly as he took Hera by the shoulders, forcing her to cease her pacing and face him.

"Hera, the last thing you are is weak, stupid, or pitiful, and if Anna is incapable of denying that, then my father will certainly be unable to as well." He then lowered his voice, as if he were fearful that someone might overhear him. "No man in their right mind could take one look at you and say that you aren't lovely," he said gently. "In fact, if nothing wins over my father this evening, I can guarantee your beauty will do the trick. No one can say no to you, not with your smile."

Hera blushed deeply.

Despite her confidence in other areas of her person, her appearance was one of those things she had always kind of struggled with. It wasn't that she didn't think she was attractive, but it was never anything beyond that. There was always going to be another woman who was more beautiful than she or in better shape or better endowed.

In truth, Hera had always believed herself to be rather plain and simple most of the time, outside of her hair color, but the attention she was receiving now was starting to make her believe otherwise. The little boost of confidence from the gypsy prince's compliments was a welcomed change.

Velkan caressed her cheek with the back of his hand as he stared deep into her eyes, something he had been doing a lot as of late.

"You are a beautiful woman, Hera. Heaven help the man who falls in love with you."

"Why do you say that?" she asked him, holding his gaze. He ran his thumb over her lips and in that moment, she knew exactly what he wanted to do. And heaven help her, she wanted it too.

"Because he'll have to compete with hundreds of other men to win your heart," Velkan whispered. "I envy the one you choose. You are a remarkable woman, Hera Garret, forwardness and all."

He paused as they both smiled in response to his comment before his expression grew serious again and his gaze moved from her eyes to her lightly parted mouth.

"I wish I was free to show you," he breathed, the words barely audible and full of a regret that Hera did not presently understand. He could see the confusion in her expression but instead of explaining himself, he only smiled, regaining his composure as he stepped away from her before the temptation became too great. "We should head downstairs. Father should be here any moment now."

Hera nodded tentatively and followed him out of her room and downstairs to the front of the house, both of them pretending that what had just happened – whatever it was – had never occurred.

They joined Anna a short time later, the trio waiting in the foyer for Boris Valerious to arrive, and the wait, as Hera had predicted, was torture. After five minutes of tense silence, her nerves started to act up again, and she couldn't keep herself from fidgeting distractedly. Velkan noticed, and in an effort to pacify her, he discreetly grabbed one of her hands and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She took a deep breath as he did this, calming herself down.

"I swear, if I have to wait another second, I'm going to throw-up," she said.

Anna laughed quietly at the woman's melodramatic announcement.

"Don't worry… he'll be here soon. He promised he would."

After a few more lengthy minutes in silence, the sound of a horse's hooves could be heard in the distance and Anna and Velkan instinctually straightened, standing tall and at the ready as if out of habit. They listened as the steed was pulled to a stop and the sound of boots and a voice Hera did not recognize drew closer and closer to the front door. The tension mounted as the deep voice drew nearer and within moments, the door opened.

Boris Valerious wasn't at all what Hera had expected.

Considering the fact that in _Van Helsing_ one only sees a snap shot of the gypsy king for a grand total of three seconds, Hera had never really had much to go on by way of appearance. In the film, she remembered him looking very severe, even slightly creepy – in a carny pirate kind of way. But the man standing in the doorway was the farthest thing from what her wild imagination had concocted. In fact, he looked like the sweetest old man she had ever seen, even with the eye-patch.

Anna ran to her father and the two embraced, both laughing and talking excitedly as the youngest Valerious welcomed her father home. Soon, Velkan joined them and Hera observed in silence as the small family reunited in the front entry.

The family resemblance was obvious – the dark hair, the chocolate colored eyes, the noble yet trial-worn countenances. Yet, there was this inexplicable joy that swelled so naturally between them and it soothed whatever fears Hera had been previously harboring as a wonderful warmth gradually filled her being.

The woman watched in quiet admiration, and even a hint of envy, as Boris, the loving father, wrapped his arms around both of his grown children, tears glistening in his good eye, assured at last that his heirs were alive and well. He couldn't stop touching their faces or laughing for joy. It was evident to all that Boris Valerious was glad to be home.

As Hera continued to look on, she soon captured the attention of the gypsy king and he observed her with evident scrutiny from across the room as Anna and Velkan continued to greet their father. They quickly realized, however, just how quiet the man had become and it didn't take long to figure out why.

Boris released his children to move unrestrained across the foyer towards the stranger standing by the stairs. The sound of his leather boots against the worn wood floor seemed much louder in Hera's ears than they perhaps were in actuality. He stopped only a few feet in front of her and then the two stared into each other's eyes for what felt like an age, but was truthfully only a few seconds.

"Miss Hera Garret, I presume?" Boris clarified at last, breaking the tense silence.

Hera nodded, but never uttered a word.

Although poised and calm on the surface, inside her mind was running a hundred miles a second. Should she curtsey? Maybe fall to her knees? Well, if that was what she was supposed to do, her body wasn't responding. Hera remained fixed in her spot, her eyes locked on the man's only remaining eye as they had their stare down. The strain in the air was palpable and both Velkan and Anna were beginning to feel uncomfortable.

Velkan could only imagine how Hera must have been feeling about now, but she seemed so calm, so peculiarly at ease. He eventually took note of the faintest of smiles now curving her lips, as well as the one that was slowly appearing on his father's. He and Anna looked at each other in confusion.

Why were the two of them smiling at each other?

The silence remained, and Hera and Boris only continued to stare, their smiles growing wider, although Hera's looked a little sad, and in an action that took both siblings by surprise, they watched as Boris took a step forward and wrapped his arms around Hera who accepted the embrace. The sense of anxiety quickly dissipated, only to be replaced with sheer confusion.

"What did I miss?" Anna whispered to her brother but he appeared as lost as she.

"Nothing dear, nothing," Boris said, having overheard his daughter. He then extended his hand out to Hera after releasing her and the two shook hands. "My dear girl, you are far from home, aren't you?"

"Yes sir," Hera said.

"Well, if it is any consolation, it is a pleasure to have you as a guest in my home. I have heard nothing but the highest praise."

Hera smiled.

"I am honored to make your acquaintance at last, your grace."

Boris laughed, waving off the formality.

"There's no need to call me that, Miss Garret. I want none of those superfluous titles. Boris will suffice."

"If you insist."

"I do. You know, while I was travelling through the village, I was hearing the most fascinating story about you a certain bride of the Count's. I'd love to hear the tale first hand. Sorina? When is supper to be served?" Boris inquired of one of the maids.

"It is ready when you are, my lord."

"Excellent! Let's have supper. Miss Garret, if you'll allow me," and he offered Hera his arm, leading her toward the dining room as his children followed close behind, relieved that their father had evidently taken such a liking to their house-guest.

Dinner proved to be quite the event.

Never in Hera's life had she enjoyed a meal as much as she enjoyed tonight's. She had thought supper with Anna and Velkan had been entertaining, but with Boris added to the mix, her stomach was soon sore from all the laughter. Velkan and Anna naturally shared all the stories they could about Hera, and her encounter with Verona was one that Boris found himself particularly impressed with.

The siblings then filled their father in on all of the improvements to the traps they had set on the outskirts of the village with the assistance of Hera to keep the people safe from the monsters that continually lingered on the fringes. By the end of the tale, Boris officially announced his approval of the young woman from the future and everyone sighed in relief.

Hera had officially won all the hearts of the Valerious family.

The company talked for hours after dinner was over, as Boris was all stories of his adventures and Hera proved to be the perfect listener, her eyes fixed on him as she responded to his various tales of hunting werewolves or tracking down vampire nests.

Velkan quietly observed how his family and the servants reacted to Hera as the night went on. His father seemed delighted with her. Anna, he already knew, was now close friends with Hera, and the house help had never taken so quickly to a stranger before. The gypsy prince couldn't help but watch Hera each time she laughed or smiled or spoke. How he wished he were free to do as he pleased when it came to the woman, but duty it would seem had a different plan for him.

Boris had announced that evening after dinner that Velkan had just been betrothed to a young noble woman in Budapest. Although the two weren't due to be married for at least a year, this fact was a bitter pill to swallow, particularly for Velkan because each time he looked at Hera, he ached.

It was late when the house finally retired for the evening, but the prince continued to wander the halls of his father's house, the announcement of his betrothal and his conflicted feelings for Hera making sleep impossible. When he passed her bedchamber door on the way over to the stairs, he noticed the young woman's light was still on and there were muffled noises coming from within.

With a gentle knock and an invitation to enter, Velkan found Hera seated on the floor near the balcony window, her eyes glistening with tears.

Being a man and the brother of a woman who rarely ever cried, Velkan was not well versed in the complex feelings and emotions of females. But seeing Hera in distress concerned him, and he was at her side in an instant.

"Hera, what is the matter?" he asked sympathetically.

The young woman looked up at him with a weak smile, holding her iPod close to her breast.

"It's nothing," she assured him.

"Forgive me for contradicting you, but you don't strike me as the type of person that cries over nothing."

Hera laughed pitifully before looking down at the small piece of technology in her hands, the one thing that reminded her of home, and Velkan watched as more tears began to tumble down her cheeks.

"It's just… seeing you and Anna with your father this evening made me realize how much I miss …" She stopped abruptly, clearly distraught and unable to speak.

He felt so awkward, helplessly standing there as she fought to regain her composure.

"Should I go fetch a doctor?" was all Velkan could think to say. "Are you ill?"

"No, I'll be fine. Just a bout of homesickness is all. I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning," she managed.

"Shall I leave you alone, then?" he asked gently after some moments of silence.

"That may be best."

"I'm sorry I disturbed you. If there's anything I can fetch for you…"

"Thank you, Velkan," Hera interrupted quietly. "Good night."

"Good night."

* * *

Verona sat alone in the lounge meant specifically for her and the Count's other brides. Luckily, she had the little sitting room to herself this evening. Marishka and Aleera had left to feed, and Verona, having had no real appetite for some time now, was content to stay behind. Her master, however, was still to go out for the evening.

The eldest bride assumed he was perhaps finishing up with some business, though she couldn't be certain. She had been avoiding him the last several days and though she was well aware her behavior hadn't gone unnoticed, she remained apathetic.

Verona lingered comfortably in solitude, the chamber littered with enormous feather pillows, silks, satins, and other expensive fabrics. It looked like the Persian harem of a prince, and how appropriately so. The woman was situated beside a window, staring out into the night, something she had taken a habit to as of late.

Marishka and Aleera had tried to talk to her about what was amiss, why she seemed to keep only to herself, why she was staying away from the master. It didn't take long for Verona to realize that Dracula had sent them to acquire the information and that awareness forced her to keep her mouth shut.

If the Count wanted to know what was bothering her, he could man up and ask her himself. Yes, she had forgiven them all for the pain they had unwittingly caused her, and she continued in a state of civility around her sisters at least, but her feelings towards the master remained presently unresolved.

As the lone bride continued in her solitude, her thoughts diverted to her life before vampirism, her brief existence as a mortal. Hera's words had reminded her of this period of time and she found herself dwelling on it often. Verona privately recalled her days when she had been in love with the one called David. Before Dracula, she had been merely the youngest daughter of a washed-up noble, a pawn in her father's schemes to regain his lost wealth and prestige. David, the son of a well-respected hunter, had made her feel loved and worthwhile – even if their love had been forbidden.

The young Verona had had every intention of running away with the hunter, of living out her days in provincial bliss, but then came that fateful evening when she had first met Dracula, the night that had changed everything.

Verona could recall that evening with perfect clarity, even after all these centuries. She had gotten into a now long forgotten argument with David and oh how she had hated him in that moment in time. That's when the Count had stepped onto the scene. She remembered how he had seduced her, how he had made her feel desired, and she became addicted to the sensation, soon dependent to him and the untold pleasure he could bestow upon her paltry flesh.

He would come to her for several nights after the first. He'd ravish her and then feast on her precious blood. He'd whisper poison into her ears, the sweetest poison she had ever tasted. But that night, the night he sired her, he gave her the choice, telling her the honest truth, that he didn't love her, and most likely never would; but the life he offered her, a life of immortality, of luxury and ease – how could she refuse?

Verona knew, even now, that it was she who had made that choice.

No one had forced her or coerced her into it.

She had made it willingly.

Count Dracula's eldest bride then recollected how several years later, she had learned that David had forgotten all about her, had even married another woman. They had children and grandchildren, growing old together as mortals do, and then he died.

Verona had once assumed that her affection for the mortal had ended the evening he had died, but she came to realize that some loves never end, just as certain wounds never heal. But what made it all the more tragic was that as much as she missed her old lover, a small part of her understood that deep down, despite everything, she still loved and was devoted to her master.

Verona leaned her head against the glass of the cold window as she contemplated her existence with the Count, the good and bad days. She'd be the last to admit that immortality was dreadful, for it wasn't – not entirely. She liked being a vampire. She enjoyed the power, the influence, and the material aspect. She enjoyed the fact that she was tied to the most powerful man in the world. But despite it all, she knew what she had sacrificed, and there were moments when she wondered if she had made a mistake.

And in the last several days she had had plenty of those moments.

"Verona," came Dracula's voice from behind, abruptly pulling her from her private thoughts.

The bride stood and turned her lovely head to face her master, acknowledging his presence, but still remaining silent. Although selfish by nature, the Count had not overlooked his eldest's sudden reserve and coldness towards him and he found it uncharacteristic of her, considering that Verona had always been his most obedient, the most devoted. Never before had she questioned him or doubted him or defied him until recently.

"Why aren't you out with your sisters feeding?" he asked her, his voice how, but his presence remained powerful, oppressive even. It was clear who was in control here and Verona found herself submitting to his dominance, just as she had willingly done time and time again. It had been his authoritarian air that had made her helpless, and though she longed to stay angry with him, the way he looked into her eyes made it impossible.

"I wished to feed alone and I am not hungry as of yet, my lord," she answered penitently.

He didn't smile, but it pleased him to know his bride still understood her place.

She was still compliant, just distressed. He could tell with her. Verona was very quiet and discrete in her own way, unlike his other two brides. His dark-haired beauty evened everything out, and that's what he liked most about her. She brought balance to their dysfunctional little family – balance and order.

"You are troubled my dear. I am not blind," he responded, letting her know that he was aware.

"I did not wish to inconvenience you, my lord. After all, you have the progeny to worry about. You need not trouble yourself with me," she insisted, looking back out the window. She felt him move in closer towards her, his aura overbearing.

"Tell me what is on your mind, Verona," he commanded softly. "Do not think that I care little to nothing for you."

Count Dracula had always been charming – in life and in death – but his abilities in charisma, allure, and seduction had been part of his gift when the devil had claimed him as his son. Verona felt a small spark of will alight inside of her, pleading with her to remain silent, but she did not have it in her to defy him outright – not at present anyway.

"Why did you choose me?" she inquired, deciding to get to the point. "Why did you choose me to be your bride?"

The Count gently grabbed her chin, leading her eyes towards his.

"Is this what has been bothering you?"

She nodded.

"I wish to better understand your reasoning, master."

He released her chin, but continued to hold her steady gaze.

"Because you are strong. I noticed your strength all those years ago and I wanted it for myself. I chose you for your resilience, your passion, your beauty, and…" and he touched her face with the back of his fingers, "…you have been a wonderful and most devoted companion to me for the past four centuries, Verona. You know this."

Although it was clear she appreciated the praise, there was more on her mind and he silently urged her with his expression to continue.

"Was there ever a time, even in the smallest moment, that you loved me?" she asked him softly, already suspecting the answer.

He would be honest; she knew that.

"No," he answered, his voice very hushed, but firm. "Unfortunately, my dear, I have never loved you, or your sisters. Our souls were never meant for each other, and even if they were, you know my feelings on the subject."

Verona looked away from him, unable to keep his gaze.

"Do you even have a soul?" she asked boldly.

He led her eyes back to his.

"Yes, I do," he answered softly. "You and I were never meant for each other. You were meant for another and I will admit it, I took that from you. But I apologized to you centuries ago for that, and I _will not_ do so again," he answered sternly.

Verona nodded in submission and bowed her head, not in disappointment, but in understanding. She then sweetly took his large hand in both of hers and kissed his knuckles in reverence.

"Yes, my lord."

Verona began to retreat from the room when the Count caught her arm in his hand, forcing her to stop.

"Verona?"

"Master?"

Dracula looked into his eldest bride's eyes for a moment, still wondering what had been said to cause these questions in her, this change in her behavior. What had happened in Visceria two weeks ago?

Verona sensed his unasked question and she stepped out of his hold.

"Hera," was all she said, and she exited from the room to go out and feed, leaving Dracula to stand alone, contemplating that one name, the name that had been secretly clawing at the fringes of his thoughts for the past two months now.

He knew Verona wouldn't tell him what Hera had obviously said to her, but perhaps he could get the mortal to speak instead?

Besides, it was time their paths crossed again.

He was at last ready to become better acquainted with that strangely alluring mortal and her honey-suckled eyes.

* * *

 **Oh yes, my beloved Count. It is _definitely_ time you become better acquainted with Hera. The plot demands it. **

**Alright my dear readers - please do leave me your thoughts on the chapter. What do you think of the current developments? Do I have any Hera/Velkan shippers out there? ;)**

 **Thank you for stopping by and I'll see you very soon for chapter 8!**


	8. A Taste of the Forbidden

**SO CLOSE TO CHAPTER 9!** *dying* **We're almost there! Dracula is just right there on the horizon! I can see him in the distance! ;)**

 **All teasing aside, I have yet again ANOTHER chapter for you this week.** *throws bat-shaped confetti in celebration* **But seriously, someone remind me to never update this frequently ever again, or at least not for a long while. I'm certain I missed some things in my haste to post. I hope you'll let me know if I did.**

 **A huge thank you to those who reviewed recently** (I totally failed and forgot to do my shout-outs last chapter! FOR SHAME!) **. Thank you to -** She-Devil Red **,** the invisible reader **,** RegencyPoet **,** Scarlet Empress **,** Bloodsired **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** Mme. La Ros **,** Tinkerbell **,** Angel of Beauty **,** DreamBubbles **, and the anonymous** Guest **. You guys are seriously the best!  
**

 **Also wanted to send out an extra special thank you to those who continue to review each new installment. Oh! And a welcome to my newcomers** (so happy to have you with us!) **. You guys are the main reason I keep updating like I am. I hope you'll continue to provide your feedback for future chapters as your insights and critiques have proven to be IMMENSELY helpful.**

 **Now, enough of me - on to the chapter!**

* * *

 **VIII**

 ** _A Taste of the Forbidden_**

Although the winter air chilled to the bone, being outside proved to be precisely what Hera needed in order to lift her spirits. The world was covered in a soft blanket of snow, the sun and blue sky up above her head one of the most welcoming sights she had seen in the past few days. At last, the storm had let up and she was finally given the chance to more thoroughly explore Visceria in all its winter glory.

Hera had been living in the Valerious manor for two months now, and though there were moments when she longed to visit with her father, even for just a few minutes, she had come to fully accept her present situation as her reality. There was no way for her to return to her home and time – that she could think of anyway – and no dream she had ever had had covered such a span of time, so naturally she concluded that this was her new present, and she chose to make the most of the adventure.

Visceria had been sans-Dracula and his brides since Hera's arrival, save it were for the incident with Verona, but that was all, and only those who lived or worked in the Valerious household knew of the occurrence.

Due to the absence of any vampires or other supernatural beings, it was decided that Hera could finally be granted free reign outside of the manor grounds, so long as she stayed within the village boundaries unless she had someone to accompany her.

Boris, however, did not particularly care for the suggestion that Dracula's brides were spying not only on Hera, but on his children as well. Though the king of the gypsies preferred to keep his guest under the safety of his own roof, it was evident to him that though Hera was a naturally kind and pleasant young woman, her spirits had been low as of late.

Despite everything, Hera missed her father – and when Boris left just a week and a half after returning home, this time heading towards the sea in search of Dracula, Hera knew exactly what that meant and the burden of keeping silent nearly killed her.

Hera longed to warn Boris, to stop him from going to meet what would ultimately be his doom. She even tried to tell him Dracula's secret, but something always muted her tongue whenever the young woman attempted to say anything on the subject, and so she was forced to reluctantly let it go.

Watching Anna and Velkan say goodbye to their father – unwittingly for the last time – gnawed at Hera's insides, the guilt so great, she found herself crying without even realizing it. Boris and his children naturally assumed that this particular set of tears were due to the king's departure, but oh how wrong they were.

By this point in the week, Hera decided she was in dire need of some fresh air and exercise, some time to clear her head. The instant she was off the manor grounds, she felt better. The sun was warm on her back, the brisk afternoon air heavenly on her flushed face as she trekked through the fresh snow, her hands buried in the pockets of her long jacket in an effort to keep them warm.

Her hair was open and gently curled, the locks bouncing lightly with each step while the lighter wisps blew back in the icy breeze. The sun on her head gave the tresses a fiery look, the artificial marmalade hue having faded almost completely since her arrival, allowing the natural copper tint of her hair to catch the light.

Hera continued in contented silence, a beautiful serenity softening her countenance.

It felt so good to be out of doors again.

She had missed her regular walks in the garden back at home, and though a part of her yearned for the English countryside with its lakes, moors, and untamed beauty of the peaks, Transylvania held its own enticing power and she fell captive to it more and more with every step she took.

As Hera wandered through the wooded area on the outskirts of Visceria, she was unaware that someone had been following, spying on her as she hiked through the deeper set of snow off the usual path so she could explore the forest that ran along the mountainside. The stalker remained as silent as was humanly possible, the snow muting his footsteps, allowing him to sneak up behind her.

Before she could even realize what was going on, Velkan had caught up with her and without warning, the prince tackled her into the snow, laughing at her exclamation of surprise. When she realized it was him, she sent him a look and punched him in the chest as he continued to chuckle.

"Velkan, that isn't funny," she insisted, pushing him off of her and he rolled over in the snow beside her.

"Hera, you should have seen your expression," he exclaimed, imitating her startled look with mocked exaggeration. Hera threw a fistful of snow into his face and snickered as he sent her a playfully evil look. "Did you just throw snow at me?"

"Velkan, honestly… do _I_ look _that_ dumb to you?" she asked innocently. He gathered a fistful of snow and began to pack it into a dense ball.

"Yes Hera… you _do_!" and he threw it at her, hitting the side of her head before he got up and started to run.

"Oh, it's over for you now, your highness!" she called teasingly, getting up and chasing after him as he ran ahead of her. "Just because you're a prince doesn't mean I won't beat the crap out of you!" He glanced behind to see how far back she was – clearly not far enough.

"Hera, I was just playing!" he insisted and he felt a snowball hit him in the back of the head, the remnants sliding down into his shirt and he jumped in surprise as the rapidly melting ice touched his heated skin. "Hera! You're dead!" he called and he whirled around to chase after her.

They went on like this for some time into the late afternoon, pursuing one another, throwing snowballs, unwittingly traveling deeper and deeper into the dark woods, not really paying attention to where they were going. At this point, Velkan was racing after Hera again. She had thrown a snowball right into his face and rather hard too and he was determined to have his revenge, the arctic sting still reddening the spot on his brow where she had struck him.

"Hera!" he kept calling, and she continued to run, her laughter making it hard for her to catch her breath, which ultimately slowed her down.

 _Man, I'm out of shape_ , she thought idly to herself as she continued to huff and puff the cold air.

"Velkan, I'm sorry!" she swore. "I didn't mean it!"

"I still want my revenge!" he exclaimed as he lunged forward, grabbing hold of her and tackling her down to the ground. Velkan soon had her on her back, pinning her with the bulk of his weight, both laughing. "Do you surrender?"

Hera just rolled her eyes.

"To you? Ha! Yeah right!" she said, trying to push him off of her, but he seized her wrists and held them down in the snow.

"Very well… just remember. You have brought this on yourself."

"Brought what on myself?" The devious grin that curved his lips confirmed all and she sent him a warning look. "Velkan, don't you dare…" but he ignored her warning, digging his fingers into her sides and she screamed as he tickled her.

Soon she was laughing the word "no" as she tried to keep his torturous fingers from her sides and underarms, but he was too fast. After some difficulty she managed to grab his hands and pry them away from her body, tears streaming down her face, too distracted to notice how indecently damp her clothes had become.

"Velkan Valerious, I'm going to _kill_ you," she promised when he finally got off of her, sitting beside her in the snow, both in dire need of a breather.

"I'd love to see you try," he baited.

He then collapsed on his back beside her and the two of them started to watch the sky overhead, a canopy of leafless oaks and snow-covered firs and pines towering above them. A comfortable silence lingered in the air for a few moments until Hera looked over at the gypsy prince and noticed a pensiveness in his countenance.

"I never got to congratulate you on your upcoming betrothal," Hera suddenly said, looking away from him and staring up at the sky above, knowing all too well that he was observing her as she spoke. "I wish you every happiness, Velkan. I hope that after all of this business with Dracula is over that you can live your life. You have so much to live for."

Velkan rolled over so that he was on his side facing her now, his head propped up with his hand.

"Thank you for the kind well-wishes, but I must confess I am not very excited about this betrothal."

"Why ever not?" she asked. The look in his eyes when he glanced up at her answered that question. "Oh…" she whispered, looking away from him.

She sat up, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. But even with him at her back, she could still feel his gaze on her and it made her conscious of how damp and cold she was.

"I'm sure I'll be happy, if she's anything like you," the prince finally answered.

She got his hint, read it loud and clear, and although she normally would have been thrilled to know that Velkan was falling in love with her, it didn't take long for her to understand how much that could change the future and she became very cognizant of the situation she was now in.

"You don't mean that," Hera said, but he sat up immediately, trying to capture her gaze. Her eyes remained fixed on the ground until he gently took her chin in his hand.

"Yes, Hera… I do…" he replied gently. He moved a stray curl from her face, tucking it behind her ear before he climbed to his feet and offered her his hand. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

Hera accepted his hand and allowed him to help her up, but instead of releasing her like she had expected him to, he held her steadfast, leading her through the woods, guiding her up the mountainside. After a good fifteen-minute hike through the snow, Hera realized where he was leading her: Castle Frankenstein.

"What are we doing here?" she asked when they reached the entrance.

He smiled mischievously.

"I want to show you something," he repeated.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked, looking hesitantly up at the foreboding fortress. Velkan chuckled, pulling her towards the castle.

"Are you scared?" he mocked.

She forced a laugh.

"No! I have no reason to be," she answered in a matter-of-fact tone. "If Dracula happens to be in there, he's more likely to kill you than me."

"Is that so? And why do you think that?"

An unabashed smirk curved her lips as Hera realized that he was flirting with her.

Two could play that game.

"Because _I_ can talk him out of it."

Velkan grabbed her by the hand, pulling her towards the castle's entrance.

"Well then, let's hope Dracula isn't in there," he replied, and he led her up the front steps, ushering her inside the abandoned castle and then shutting the main door behind them.

"So what is it you wanted to show me?" she queued while fiercely rubbing her arms, trying to ward off the cold.

The abandoned castle was like an ice-box, notably chillier than the temperature outside and for the briefest of moments, Hera wondered if it was just the lack of life in the structure, or maybe something a little more nefarious.

The woman visibly shuddered. What she wouldn't give for a hot bath and some dry clothes right about now.

"It's a surprise," Velkan explained. "Now come on, while there's still sunlight outside."

The gypsy prince directed her upstairs towards the west wing of the castle, then down a long hall with many doors. Hera obviously had no idea as to where he was taking her, but when they reached their destination, he turned to her and smiled.

"Close your eyes," he commanded.

"Why?" she asked, watching as he took his two fingers and ran them over her eyelids, closing her eyes.

"Because I said so," he teased, so she humored him and listened as he opened the set of doors in front of her. Within moments, she felt the warmth of his hands in her own as he led her into the mystery room, shutting them inside the dark chamber before leading her farther inside.

She felt his hands slip away and soon she could hear him scurrying about the room, throwing open what sounded like heavy drapes, what was left of the sun shining through the windows.

"Now?" she asked impatiently.

"Alright… now," he said and he watched as her eyes fluttered open and then widened in astonishment at the sight before her. Hera covered her mouth with both hands as she spun around slowly taking in the vast library that surrounded her.

"I am _totally_ having a _Beauty and the Beast_ moment right now," she whispered, though mostly to herself so Velkan wouldn't hear. Not that it would have mattered; he was too entranced with the smile that was radiating off her entire face. "Velkan, this is gorgeous!" she exclaimed, turning to look over at him. "Can I?"

"Can you browse? By all means! It's not like Victor is here to say no."

Hera had to suppress a giggle as she raced through the rows and rows of books with childlike wonder and excitement, her fingers running reverently over the spines as she sang out the familiar titles and authors.

Although the vast majority of the late Doctor Frankenstein's collection was primarily scientific in nature, Hera was pleased to discover that the genres also included philosophy, psychology, several volumes on cultural and anthropological studies, and even a fairly decent handful of novels – some she recognized and others that were completely foreign to her.

Frankenstein even had a compilation of Ovid's _Amores and The Art of Love_ , and Hera gasped in delight as she pulled the book off the shelf, disturbing the dust but hardly caring as she stared in bewilderment.

As she thumbed excitedly through the pages, Velkan removed his cloak and began to make his way over to her, his smile ear to ear as he watched Hera in paradise. He had never seen her so happy, so animated before, and seeing the woman thus did the most astonishing things to his insides, things he had never felt until this moment.

While Hera continued to peruse the volume in her hand, the prince came up from behind and boldly wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder in an affectionate manner.

"Do you like it?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes," she answered, turning to look back at him. "Although it is not mine to keep, I suppose it would be nice to enjoy it while I can."

Velkan looked longingly at Hera, catching her subtle hinting. She wasn't just talking about the books; she was talking about him. She felt it too – the attraction. She turned slowly in his arms so she could face him, the book in her hand dropping absently to the floor.

"Hera, why couldn't you have been part of my time?" he asked her. "Why couldn't I find someone like you without running the risk of altering the future?"

Hera lightly touched the side of his stubble-laden face.

"You know, we're not supposed to like each other in _that_ way, Velkan," she reminded him with a teasing lilt in her voice, though the mirth in her eyes soon faded when she noticed how he was now staring intently at her mouth. His thumb ran over her bottom lip as he held her face in his hands.

Heaven forgive him, he wanted to kiss her – more than anything in this world, he wanted to feel her mouth on his, to taste her sweetness and breathe her in deep so she'd fill his lungs.

"I know. I just hope this future wife of mine is a fraction what you are," he said softly, his lips inching closer to hers to the point where she could feel the heat of his breath.

Their mouths were inches apart, but neither had the courage to make the first move.

"Velkan, we shouldn't," Hera said in hushed tones, although the look in her eyes and the light moistening of her lips with her tongue certainly said otherwise.

Velkan rested his forehead against hers.

"I know Hera, but for once I want to do something that _I_ want to do, not what is expected of me. Humor me? Just this once?"

"What is it you want from me, your grace?" she whispered, her expression unapologetically sensuous.

"Can I kiss you?"

"You're asking me for permission?"

"I don't want to do this without your consent," he explained. She gently brushed the tip of her nose against his, a soft, flirtatious smile curving her lips.

"Of course you can," she breathed. "Just don't tell Anna."

"Anna doesn't need to know," he agreed, and then he slowly captured her lips with his in an easy and slightly timid kiss.

The tender pressure of the prince's lips against her mouth was unlike anything Hera had expected. He was surprisingly temperate and sweet, and although their kiss started out pure, a warm passion gradually swelled and then crescendoed between them as they became more acquainted with one another. He cupped her face more fully in his hands, his tongue exploring her mouth, a little at a time before thrusting in with confidence.

Velkan's skill genuinely surprised Hera, and as the kiss continued, indescribable sensations pooled within the pit of her abdomen, thawing out the chill she had felt earlier, replacing it with a pleasant warmth that made her flush.

She had soon unconsciously unbuttoned the three large buttons of her jacket and the prince helped to push the damp garment off of her, neither noticing how it pooled to the floor in a heap of brown. Velkan wrapped his arm around the woman's waist, pulling her ever closer, longing to feel her against him and she let him, coiling an arm around his neck, while her other hand rested over the center of his chest until she was clutching to the front of his shirt.

While the private tryst continued, a pair of very perceptive blue eyes watched from the shadows, observing – attentive and vigilant. They watched as the gypsy prince held the swell of the woman's hip in his hand, squeezing it mildly as another hand smoothed along the curve of her spine, pushing her closer to him. The woman's body rose with each kiss, her responsive breasts brushing against the mortal man's masculine form, her fingers running through his hair, lightly tugging at the roots when he did something she liked.

And all the while, the eyes observed, curious – even slightly envious.

The sound of the clock below in the village striking the hour interrupted the moment before it could get too heated and Hera and Velkan finally stopped kissing. The prince's eyes remained fixed on her face, his hands holding each cheek with tenderness.

"Perhaps our souls aren't meant for each other. Maybe that is why we were meant for different times," he whispered, a hint of remorse in his tone.

"Perhaps you are right," Hera said softly, the taste of the man lingering in her mouth.

"But even if that's the case, I still can't help but feel something for you, Hera," Velkan insisted, unable to refrain from touching her, her skin one of the softest things he had ever felt.

"It's an infatuation, Velkan," she explained. "The pull of the forbidden. But I feel it too," and she touched his lips thoughtfully with the tips of her fingers.

"Do you truly?" he asked, pleased by her confession.

"More than you know," she whispered, and she started to lean in for another kiss, Velkan moving in to meet her half-way, when a familiar voice shattered the moment.

"My, my, my… what have we here?"

* * *

 **So, any predictions for chapter 9? ;)**

 **Obviously our favorite vampire will be making his grand entrance, but what kind of mischief do you think he'll cause (if any)? Any predictions you have for any of the characters? Do you think things will continue to blossom between Velkan and Hera or will Dracula put an end to that early in the game? Will she cower before him or give the Count a run for his money? What are his intentions for her, do you think? Any improvements you feel I should make in the future?**

 **Send me your feedback and thank you again for reading! Chapter 9 should go live sometime Monday morning, pacific standard time.**

 **Until then, have a lovely weekend!**

 **\- T**


	9. Enter the Count

**And so it begins...**

 **I don't want to spoil the chapter for those who have never read it, so if my veteran readers are curious as to what I had changed from the original, scroll down to the author's notes at the bottom.**

 **Otherwise, forgive any errors I may have overlooked and enjoy!**

* * *

 **IX**

 _ **Enter the Count**_

"Well _this_ is a liaison I certainly hadn't anticipated," Count Dracula drawled from the shadows.

Velkan shot his eyes in the direction of the voice, which seemed to originate from the top floor of the library. Hera followed the prince's gaze and was surprised to see the Count, leaning against the railing, watching them closely with some unknown book in his hand. He snapped it shut when he realized he had their attention.

"Though I'll admit, Prince Velkan, I never saw you as the _inamorato_ type. Don't you need experience for that?" he asked mockingly. "Oh dear, what would your beloved father say if he could see you now?"

Velkan stood in front of Hera protectively.

"Be gone, demon!" the prince shouted.

Dracula smiled a little apathetically before his eyes caught the gaze of Hera who appeared to be considering him with a deep kind of fascination, rather than the fear or disdain he had prepared himself for. He nodded his head in her direction.

"Good evening, Miss Garret. You are looking rather exceptional."

The Count suddenly vanished from his place on the third floor and then reappeared, sitting on top of a shelf of the second.

"Though I'm surprised to find you dressed so simply, considering your importance and quality. Granted, I've never met a woman who could make such a plain dress look as ravishing as you can," he continued before disappearing again, rematerializing on the mantle of the enormous fireplace. "But your clothes appear rather damp from your frolicking in the snow. You should get out of those wet things as soon as you can or you'll catch your death," he said with an obscene familiarity as his eyes lingered on the creamy swell of her breasts.

Hera blushed.

The prince turned to the woman who was watching the Count with more amusement than anything else.

"Don't listen to him," Velkan instructed her. "His words are poisonous lies."

Dracula laughed heartily as he materialized onto the ceiling now, walking about on the large chandelier up above, his hand gripping the chain so he could lean over a bit.

"Lies, Velkan? What? Don't try to tell me you wouldn't like to help your charming little paramour out of her wet dress! Your _highness_ … I could smell your lust out in the hallway."

"That is enough," the prince snapped, more embarrassed than angry.

"There's no need to be ashamed. She is a rather appealing little thing, isn't she? I wonder what she tastes like…" and the vampire inhaled deeply, his eyes beginning to glow that vibrant electric blue. "She smells delicious," he said, purring like a large feline as his canines extended just slightly. "And I do believe she likes you, little prince. Though I have no idea why."

The Count allowed gravity to take hold of him and he plummeted to the floor. Landing with unearthly grace before the two of them, he placed his hands casually behind his back.

Velkan gripped the hilt of his sword in a warning manner.

"What do you want, Dracula?"

"Such hostility, your grace. There's no need for that. I have not come here to harm you or your delectable guest. A woman of such prominence and caliber is vital in the game you and I play," he replied, a husky look in his eyes as he considered Hera, slightly tilting his head to one side. "A pity she's chosen to be so neutral."

"She has nothing to do with our battle, Count," Velkan shot bravely, desperate to keep Hera out of the unforgiving clutches of this monster. "Any quarrel you have is with me and my family, nothing more."

Dracula rolled his eyes, suddenly impatient with the prince's insistent interference.

"Oh hush, you cretin! I'm not here for you." The vampire's attention returned to that of Hera and the reappearance of his smile made the flush in her cheeks deepen. "I'm here for Miss Garret," he hummed. "I'd like to have a word with her."

Velkan unsheathed the sword that lay strapped to his waist and he pointed it at the Count when he took another step toward them.

"Won't happen," Velkan answered matter-of-factly. "Not if I have to stand here and witness it!"

But Hera knew what had happened the last time someone drew a sword against the Count. Victor Frankenstein had made the same mistake and he was dead now. Luckily, Dracula was feeling unusually generous.

"Fear not, your grace. I'll make certain you don't," and he snapped his fingers.

Hera expected Velkan to respond, but he didn't move. When the vampire nodded in satisfaction and then turned as he began to walk over to one of the shelves, Hera glanced at the gypsy prince who appeared to be frozen in place. She waved her hand in front of his eyes, but he never moved; he didn't even blink.

Dracula had stopped time – or at the very least, had slowed it down dramatically.

"Impressive," Hera commented, getting the Count to turn and look back at her. "I didn't know you could do that."

The Count removed his cloak and draped it over a chair, leaving his gloves on, eyes fixed on the woman across the room.

"Yes. But you do know a great deal more than you tend to lead on, don't you, Miss Garret?"

Hera continued to smile, refusing to show any signs of fear or apprehension.

"Either your memory is exceptionally good, or you truly did send your brides to spy on me," she replied and Dracula chuckled.

"A bit of both, I suppose. I confess, I've found myself regretting that you and I were unable to become better acquainted when last we met. Although, I'm sure you recall, our first meeting was ill timed and not so pleasant."

"Ah yes, that's right. You tried to kill me."

"Kill you? No. I'd never allow such beauty to go to waste. A figure as pleasing as yours deserves to be preserved for all eternity."

Hera knew what he was doing; she had seen it before. And though the idea of being pursued and seduced by a man such as Dracula had its appeal, she refused to be an easy conquest. She understood her worth.

"Of course! How could I assume that you were going to kill me? All you wanted was to feast on my blood without my consent. How silly of me! It couldn't have been any simpler. My mistake."

She watched in private triumph as a single brow of the Count's arched in response to her blatant sarcasm, derailing his attempt at flattering her into submission. Although a bit taken aback by her cheek, his smile never wavered, just as his eyes never left hers. Deciding to change his tactics, he began to circle the room in an attempt to intimidate her.

"You must forgive me for my conduct of that evening, Miss Garret. I fear you caught me at a rather inconvenient time. I wasn't in the best of moods."

"Do you have better moods?" she asked, smirking.

The Count suppressed the urge to laugh.

"I find it extraordinary that you aren't afraid of me," he suddenly declared.

"Do I have reason to be?" Hera asked with a false sense of innocence.

"Most people find the fact that I could end their lives in the blink of an eye rather intimidating."

Hera's expression narrowed.

"Is that a fact? Or a threat?"

Her audaciousness was foreign to him – foreign, yet refreshing, and the hint of naïveté that she possessed in her gaze, her lack of caution – it intrigued him.

 _She_ intrigued him.

"A fact, my dear," was his dispassionate response.

He noticed how Hera was now observing the frozen prince standing beside her and it made him curious.

"Do you love him?"

"Who?"

"The Valerious _boy_."

"I don't know," she replied honestly, touching the prince's rugged face with the tips of her fingers. The Count, as he watched her, could have sworn he felt the faint touch of phantom fingers against his own face. He went to raise his hand to touch the cheek, but refrained, forcing his eyes and mind to focus on the mortal standing across the room. "At times I think I do, but I can't be sure."

She glanced back over into the direction the vampire had been standing, only to find that he was no longer there.

"I'll admit, you had me fooled," he said from behind and she jumped in surprise. Dracula moved around her slowly before standing on the other side of the frozen Velkan, resting his arm casually on the man's shoulder before looking back at Hera. "Your kisses are apparently _very_ deceptive."

His expression possessed the appearance of mockery and Hera found she didn't care for it at all. In fact, that sadistic smirk of his was starting to wear on her nerves.

"What do you want?" she shot a little impatiently, moving away from him to pick up the book she had dropped earlier. Hera turned her back to the Count to put the book away, but the young woman would quickly learn to never turn her back on him, for he was always unpredictable.

"I wanted to ask you a question."

Hera went to face him to discover that, once more, he had vanished. She had started to roll her eyes in annoyance until she realized how the drapes were slowly closing over the windows of their own accord and the temperature in the room began to descend as ominous shadows slinked across the floor.

"What kind of question?" she asked the encompassing darkness, struggling against the small well of fear that sent her heart beating just a little faster.

"A question of great import," a voice answered behind her as she backed into something firm.

Hera turned around to see Dracula standing behind her, the darkest of intentions in his eyes. The Count collected the book from her grasp and moved away to put the volume back in its proper place on one of the shelves.

She observed him with interest as he progressed down the aisle. His movements seemed languid, as though he floated when he walked; and when his boots touched the floor, they never made a sound. He was the very essence of control, oozing unadulterated masculinity with his warrior build and confident posture. Everything about him from the hair on his head to the hessians on his feet seemed perfect – almost _too_ perfect, and Hera couldn't decide if she was impressed with him or a bit put-off.

"You know Count, you aren't at all how I imagined you," Hera admitted unexpectedly.

The Count returned the book to its proper place before looking back at her, his eyes glowing slightly in the shadows. He said nothing, but his expression seemed to question her.

His face reminded her of a statue—distinguished and chiseled in a lovely way, carved and polished white alabaster stone, the contrast of his silky dark hair and black clothing almost giving him the appearance of being made of porcelain.

Count Dracula didn't seem quite real to her. His beauty was unnatural, and her attraction to him borderline embarrassing, especially when she felt her fingers twitch at the thought of touching him, skin against skin.

Aware of the long silence that had been lingering between them, Hera grappled for control over her baser instincts, continuing their conversation.

"History paints you in such a different light than what stands before me."

"History is always filled with bias and falsified depictions. I wouldn't be surprised if the future views me in an obscured light. However..." and he turned to face her completely now, "...I'm curious as to how I've been viewed."

Hera could feel his words slipping into her ears like silk does through one's fingers, his voice wrapping around her mind and within moments, she could feel her legs moving of their own volition, leading her in his direction, although he never raised a finger to beckon her into the seclusion of the shadows. But she moved nonetheless and she couldn't seem to stop herself, as if her mind, body, and soul were irrevocably drawn to him.

"Is your curiosity born out of vanity, perhaps? Or maybe something a little less narcissistic?" She spoke the words in a lower tone than intended, giving them a sensuous quality. She wasn't quite sure where this newfound boldness of hers was coming from, but it simultaneously frightened and excited her.

"It's merely a harmless inquisition, I promise."

"I hate to disappoint, but I fear you don't exist. In all the history books, Vlad Țepeș is rarely ever mentioned, and with a want for greater detail. Whereas the vampire known as Count Dracula is little more than a myth, a fairytale, Transylvanian folklore twisted and immortalized by an Irishman named Bram Stoker. In my time, you are nothing by a figment of fool's imaginations."

The Count's expression remained impassive, but buried deep behind his façade of apathy was a bewildering sense of attraction and curiosity that he could not seem to snuff out, try as he might. This stranger had awoken something in him, and though his conscious mind vehemently denied it, there was something about this Hera Garret that was secretly thrilling him to his very core.

"Do _you_ doubt my existence, Miss Garret?" he asked her when she finally reached him. She had stopped about two feet from him before proceeding to lean back against the bookcase, her casual posture suggesting that she did not quite comprehend the danger she was in, being alone in the darkness with this man.

"René Descartes said that for anyone to know of absolute truth, one must doubt the senses, for the senses are unreliable."

Hera noticed how the Count moved to stand in front of her now, towering before her so she'd be consumed in his shadow, but she never shrank from him. His eyes, which continued to glow, intensified in color as he started to lean in, the proximity of their bodies sending a sensation of liquid cool running down her back.

"Is that so?" Dracula cooed as he tried to ensnare her mind, but she turned away from him, diverting her gaze down to the floor so she wouldn't have to look.

Although the blue was beautiful, she could only imagine the power those swirling irises possessed. He had secretly hoped she'd be willful, and her obstinence certainly did not disappoint.

"Why do you not face me?" he inquired.

"I don't trust you."

His lips curved into a wicked grin, clearly pleased with her answer.

"Oh? What a very intelligent woman you are," he lulled, pushing a little harder in an attempt to burrow himself into her mind.

But Hera remained steadfast, refusing to let him in. It had been an age since Dracula had had to work so hard to control or manipulate another person, and though impressed with her adamant rejection, it left him mildly irritated, forcing him to rethink his tactics once more.

"It would appear we're going to have to try a different approach with you," he mused, though mostly to himself, and he rested his hands on either side of her against the bookcase so she had no route of escape. He watched as her eyes finally came back to his, warm honey meeting glacial ice. "Tell me truly, are you afraid of me?"

When she shook her head "no", he noticed how her eyes kept diverting back and forth between his gaze and his lips and it gave him an idea.

"I have no reason to be," was Hera's answer.

"Are you certain of that?" he queried, voice soft, deep, seductive – like black velvet caressing her ears and mind. Something about his voice soothed her deeply, leaving a pleasant warmth to pool in her womb.

"I have no reason to fear what I know, and I know everything there is to know about you, Count Dracula."

He chuckled richly, amused by her presumptive statement, but not put off by it, so he moved in closer to her, inch by torturous inch.

"I'm sure you do," he said, not taking her seriously.

Hera decided it was time to get brave.

Swallowing her apprehension, she allowed a slender hand to lift from her side and she gently grabbed hold of the lapel of his jacket, running the material between her thumb and forefinger, the bold and uninvited action taking the vampire by surprise.

"Don't you find it curious, Count, that individuals throughout history take their enemies—the people who could ultimately destroy them—captive, making them their slaves, instead of removing the threat entirely by eradicating them? The Egyptians and the Israelites are a good Judeo-Christian example. One I'm certain you've heard of, considering your background."

"Yes, I am familiar with the tale," he replied, watching out of the corner of his eye as her delicate fingers stroked the collar of his jacket.

"What about the Christian Crusaders and the Muslims? Or the European explorers and natives of what was once the new world? Isn't it curious that they would destroy entire cultures, civilizations, and make them their slaves? Deceiving their enemies, making them believe that they are inferiors, when in reality, they are equals."

Hera's eyes met the Count's with a noted amount of cheek as she grabbed hold of the lapel in her hand, pulling him towards her only to whisper in his ear, her lips barely brushing the lobe.

"I find it curious that the king of vampires chooses to keep werewolves in his employ, especially since they are the very creatures that could cause his demise."

She could sense his shock from the stiffening of his body when she spoke, and the turn of his countenance confirmed all suspicions.

"How did you-" he began, but he stopped in mid-sentence, his mouth curving into an unmistakable grin of pleasure as he watched her lean away from him again, a very self-satisfied smirk appearing on her own lips—the lips he was finding rather tantalizing as of right now.

"What I find interesting is that the answer has been under the Valerious' noses for centuries, and they've never noticed. It's rather obvious actually. Why else would you create a cure for the supernatural disease if it did not benefit you in some way, shape, or form? Your sense of self-preservation is undeniable."

For the first time that evening, Dracula found himself genuinely impressed.

He _liked_ this woman. She was clever and beautiful, and her bewildering sense of fearlessness was like a breath of fresh air after a lifetime of being confined indoors. It became clear to the Count that this Hera Garret and all of the fire inside of her would be of much greater use to him than to the likes of Velkan Valerious and his arrogant sister.

What a creature he could create, if given the chance to mold and guide her.

"You are a _very_ clever woman, Miss Garret," he said at last, a dark amusement in his eyes. "Almost _too_ clever for your own good," and he closed in on the space between them.

Hera felt the faint brushing of his chest against her bosom and in an effort to distract herself from the simmering lust beneath her skin, she tilted her head back a bit so she could hold his gaze.

"Oh, I'm not finished yet," she replied with vixen-like flirtatiousness. "I have another query: why would a vampire hire a mortal scientist and finance his research on creating unnatural life?" She tapped her chin in a mockingly thoughtful manner, earning another dark smirk from the vampire. "Could it be that during the past four hundred years with three beautiful women at your beck and call that you happened to father offspring in the process? But wait… that would mean that they'd have to be born dead, wouldn't they? Considering that their parents are in fact dead – or undead, or however that works. I'll admit, I'm lost when it comes to the logistics, but let's not get tangled up in semantics."

 _I can think of one thing I'd certainly enjoy getting tangled up in,_ Dracula thought lustfully to himself, before replying,

"So you know two of my greatest secrets, then. Is there anything else you know that you'd wish to share with me?"

"Not presently, no."

His hands moved from their positions on either side of her on the bookshelf to her arms.

"Oh, I'm sure you can think of _something_ ," he said huskily.

The Count's spidery fingers grabbed a fist full of her gorgeous hair and he very gently pulled her head farther back, his lips hovering over hers at a torturous distance while his remaining hand caressed the side of her neck.

"What do you want, Dracula?" she asked him, the feeling of his icy breath against her skin sending a strong shudder of delight shooting down her spine.

His mouth was now hovering over her jawline as he breathed her in, his hand carefully nudging the front of her dress down a bit so his palm could rest over her heart – and consequently over the upper swell of her left breast.

The sound of her beating heart was strangely intoxicating to him – pumping all of that warm, fresh blood. But the scent of her gradually increasing arousal at his closeness was like a light perfume in the air and he inhaled deep through his nose so the aroma could fill his lungs, his eyes glowing more vibrant in response.

"What did you tell Verona a few weeks ago?" he whispered, lips brushing against the lobe of her ear while the defiant strands of his pitch colored hair tickled her face and neck.

"Why do you care?" Hera asked, her voice a bit higher pitched and sensuous than she meant it to be.

His hand that had been resting over her heart was now taking a slow, leisurely voyage down the center of her front, his palm smoothing between the breasts that ached for attention, and over her abdomen which twitched in response, as if his very touch awoke her more primitive side. The chill she had felt earlier was rapidly dissipating as that becoming flush reappeared in her cheeks and she noticed a delicious, liquid warmth between her thighs. Her body was a treacherous thing, so ready to be touched and claimed.

Dracula sensed the change in her, and it made him bolder.

"That is none of your concern. Now then… my little spitfire," he husked, nibbling her jaw and then down her neck playfully, his dull teeth leaving lustful imprints on her skin, "…tell me what you said to Verona."

Hera snapped her lips shut to suppress the whimper building in the back of her throat out of part agitation, part arousal. He continued to torment her, taking her lust and increasing it with his slow, yet purposeful caressing, his lips always teasing a kiss but never giving her what her mouth craved.

Dracula's hand was resting in the valley of her womb, right between her hipbones. Although his hand had not presumptuously reached between her legs, he could already sense the heat that was there and it made him smile arrogantly knowing just how much her body wanted him. He allowed his eyes to glaze over in a brazenly wanton kind of lust, the look he was giving her causing her heart to beat just a little faster.

The vampire continued to tease her with his tongue and mouth, refusing to give her the proper kiss she clearly hungered for, even as his two fingers pressed gently against her womb, tauntingly massaging the area, inching ever closer to where she really wanted those digits of his.

It was one of his favorite games to play – to taunt and tease, teetering on that line between promise and fruition and he found from personal experience that it created the most delicious sexual tension. Usually it was the more virginal women whose flesh responded to him with this kind of promptness, but he could sense that she had been touched before – perhaps not as thoroughly as he had initially suspected, but oh what fun he could have with her!

Alas, he was not presently in search of a woman to prime and teach. He wanted one he could conquer and control – someone he could manipulate into submitting to him willingly – body and soul.

The loss of Frankenstein's monster had left him with little to no options when it came to the continuation of his kind – save one.

A deal had been made over four centuries ago between himself and the devil, and with that deal came one caveat in particular that, up until this point, the Count had given little consideration. But there was something about this woman and the palpable chemistry between them that made him wonder.

He'd have to think it over at a later time.

For the present, however, he was far more agreeably engaged in seducing her. He could work on concocting any grander schemes later. So he gently ran the tip of his tongue over her mouth, pleased when she tried to reach for it, but he was still holding her head in place, having claimed control over the situation and her lust.

"Tell me what you told Verona," he purred once more.

"Ask her yourself," Hera insisted, only being stubborn now because she knew if she gave in, he wouldn't give her what she wanted.

"Why must you insist on not cooperating with me?" he asked her in a half-groan, as he sated her somewhat by kissing the side of her neck, his lips leaving an icy fire in their wake.

Hera had been gripping one of the shelves of the bookcase behind her in order to stay upright, but the sensation of his mouth on her skin made her knees weak and she reached up to hold onto him, but in a blur of black, the hand that had been tangled in her hair grabbed both of her wrists and he pinned her hands above her head, silently forbidding her to touch him.

Hera let out a noise of obvious frustration.

"Why do _you_ insist on tormenting me?" she asked, her breathing becoming a little more labored as his lips moved down from her throat to her collarbone, then a little lower.

"I'm tormenting you?" he teased, lightly nibbling the creamy flesh of her cleavage until the pale skin flushed pink from the abuse. His free hand smoothed and caressed, back and forth from hills to valley, front to side, all in slow, purposeful sweeps. "How _fascinating_."

Hera's skin sizzled beneath his touch. Her hands ached to do _something_ – to hold him or touch him or at least make him stop his merciless teasing. But the Count would not relent. His lips were now devouring that little space between the column of her neck and the curve of her shoulder and she could feel her thighs beginning to tremble as she struggled to keep them together.

"Tell me what you said, Miss Garret," the vampire demanded, his voice still holding that overpowering sexuality to it, his aggression, his need for dominance, making her embarrassingly hot.

Dracula's tempered seduction had turned the kisses she had just shared with Velkan into a mere afterthought.

The lust that was now pounding wildly through her veins was frightening to her. She felt so helpless, so out of control, and though the more rational side of her brain told her that it wasn't real, that she was being manipulated, somewhere deep in the darkest corner of her mind, she didn't care.

A small part of her wanted to obey him, to tell him everything. But Hera was not the kind of woman that took the kind of deprivation he was presently forcing her to endure lightly. As pleasurable as it felt, it infuriated her that he appeared so detached, that he assumed he could just seduce what he wanted out of her.

If he wanted his information, he'd have to bend – a bit of quid pro quo. If Dracula wanted Hera to tell him what she had told Verona in an effort to save her own life, he'd have to give her more.

Count Dracula sensed her thoughts, her internal struggle between her lust and her pride, and although her defiance infuriated him, it also aroused him in ways he had not anticipated.

"You selfish, _selfish_ woman," he growled, now possessed with an insatiable desire to give her what she wanted – what they _both_ wanted.

Yet, denying her nurtured the tension between them and he wasn't quite ready to give in just yet. He wanted her liquid. But this sense of denial was starting to have an effect on him as well. He could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, how his pants felt just a little tighter in the crotch area and it took everything in him to keep from rubbing himself against her like some kind of feral animal.

There was a little tick in his head that wondered what she would do if he let her know just how much her own sexual excitement affected him, but that was a power he wasn't ready to relinquish, so he refrained and instead satisfied himself by pressing the palm of his hand between her legs. Her whole body lurched at the contact and though her dress and undergarments lay between his hand and the apex of her thighs, the heat coming from her was searing and he was overpowered by it.

He licked her breathless mouth to see if he could agitate her just a little further and saw an expression of desperate starvation in her eyes. The look seemed to unwittingly heighten his own torment and he felt every inch of his body twitch in a sudden need to mount her. But if Dracula was anything, he was in control, and though he couldn't help but wonder momentarily what she would feel like on his aching length, he reined himself back in before he could run away with the fantasy and instead stared deep into her captivated eyes.

"Tell me, Hera," he whispered seductively, his icy breath fanning her flushed face, his palm still pressed between her legs. "Tell me…"

He had hoped for her surrender, but she surprised him as he watched her lick her bottom lip before biting it lightly.

"Say please," she whined breathlessly, a hint of delicious playfulness in her voice and he couldn't stand the temptation any longer.

How could he deny her silent request?

He could not.

Passion would not allow it.

He moved his hand away from the searing heat of her groin only to take hold of her neck, just as he had done the first night he had met her, only this time, it was out of need.

"Please…" he breathed, and then he kissed her.

All thoughts of the purity and chasteness of her and Velkan's kisses completely vanished from all comprehension and thought as they were overshadowed by the Count's onslaught. The only thing her senses perceived was Dracula and that glorious mouth of his. She could have sworn his kisses were tastes of heaven itself and every inch of her flesh crawled in delight.

The man knew exactly what he was doing as he alternated between caressing her lips with his and boldly tasting her with his tongue. His hands were now holding her to him as if a small part of him was afraid that she'd pull away, but Hera stayed exactly where she was, relishing in her victory and the sensation of his mouth on hers and his hands all over her.

She began to respond in kind, her hands momentarily resting on his chest before smoothing over the hardened bunch of muscle, only when they did, the Count's kisses stopped abruptly as he snatched her wrists and moved her hands away from him.

Before she could retaliate or get too cross with him, he appeased her with lighter kisses along her neck, carefully nurturing her desire while urging her to answer his originally intended question.

"Tell me what I want to know," he murmured into her skin.

Oh, how she hated him!

Hated how in control he was, how he refused to allow her active participation unless it involved being helpless in his arms. It was arrogant and presumptuous of him, and though it infuriated her, in truth his dominance had reduced her to a lustful mess and she found herself resenting that as well.

So she decided to put an end to this madness by using the only card he had given her.

He wanted the truth, so she gave it to him.

"You don't love her, do you?" came the blunt inquiry.

He stopped his ministrations when the question had been asked and though Hera silently hated the deprivation, it was evident their moment of lunacy was over. So instead of mourning its loss, she accepted it and continued, trying to appear as unaffected by him as possible, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her very real disappointment.

"You never loved Verona. She knows you never did, she knows you never had any intention to. She had just forgotten; so in order to save my life, I had to remind her."

Dracula was no longer in physical contact with Hera, the revelation having forced a literal distance between them.

How did she know these things, he wondered silently to himself. Where had that knowledge come from?

"You seduced her into being your bride," Hera continued. "You took advantage of her weaker mind, and then sired two other women when you realized that she couldn't fully sate your appetites. She's always been the most devoted to you, the most possessive, but she has her own silent, subtle way of letting you know – doesn't she?"

The Count never uttered a word, but it was evident to Hera that her understanding of matters concerning the vampire and his brides had shaken him. Her instinct was to scowl or sneer at him, but instead she managed an almost sympathetic smile.

Dracula had finally backed up enough to the point that Hera was able to slip away from him, moving out of the aisle and back into the main part of the library, silently grateful for the personal space she suddenly possessed.

"It must be difficult for the three of them, though – loving a man who they know deep down will never love them in return, who never _did_ love them in return," Hera replied solemnly, her thoughts momentarily diverting back to Thomas Prichard, her last disastrous relationship. "But at least Verona knew. She had made her choice consciously, all your brides did. At least they were given that chance. Most women don't even get that…"

She turned to face the Count and found him watching her intently. It was bewildering how one minute things were so white-hot and heavy between them, and now, just a few seconds later, it was as though they had both been doused in ice cold water. It made her want to laugh out of sheer awkwardness, but she resisted the urge.

Instead, she remained determined to appear as unfazed by what had transpired between them as he apparently was, though her skin was still crawling, lips aching for more. She turned away from him at last, unable to withstand the intensity of his gaze.

"That's all I discussed with her. Anything else that could possibly be troubling her is something you'll have to take up with her directly." Hera turned back to the Count for just a moment. "Does that satisfy you?"

He nodded, but remained unnervingly silent, watching her with a kind of scrutiny that made her feel almost naked. She turned away from him again, a twinge of guilt and revulsion at how easily she had been manipulated starting to gnaw at the inside of her brain.

"Now go," she demanded. "You have your answer… leave."

She never did turn to see if he had left or not, but the moment she had made the rather brusque request, Velkan snapped out of his stupor and time was restored once more. The gypsy prince asked Hera what had happened, but she said nothing to him on that front. She only grabbed her jacket and explained that she was tired and cold and wished to return home.

He didn't push her on the matter; he didn't have the heart to. So he complied and led her out of the room, neither of them aware of the eyes that continued to watch them as they left. Count Dracula's mind was awash with emotions and thoughts that, until a few moments ago, he hadn't realized still existed inside of him.

* * *

 **And there you have it. Hera and Dracula have formally met in a proper setting at long last and now the fun can _really_ begin! ** *insert evil laughter here*

 **Before I run off, I wanted to take a moment to thank all of those who reviewed this weekend -** She-Devil Red **,** the invisible reader **,** 12345678910 **,** DreamBubbles **,** Bloodsired **,** Scarlet Empress **,** RegencyPoet **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** wolfgirl **,** jenny **, and** bloodrose2014 **\- you guys are the greatest!**

 **I hope you enjoyed the rapid-fire updates while they lasted because now they're going to be coming a little bit slower from here on out. I know that may leave many of your frustrated, but it's for the best, I promise. Not only am I up to my eye-balls in just the regular stresses of life** (work, living situation, family stress, social dramas, struggling to survive - the usual adult things) **, I'm also attempting to work on** _Eternal Night_ **all while continuing to fine-tune this story. Needless to say, I'm stretched pretty thin and could use your patience, as well as your continued support as we carry on with this tale.**

 **I really do appreciate each of you, my dear readers, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story as it progresses. One last thank you to those who have been so kind as to review - your feedback really does mean the world to me. Not only does the expression of your likes, dislikes, and suggestions for future improvement help me to better my skill as a writer** (as amateur as I may be) **, your reviews also feed the muse and his small army of plot bunnies which have been working consistently almost around the clock as I dive deeper into my** _Eternal Night_ **trilogy. Merciful heavens, I am _so_ excited and terrified of that leviathan. But that is all I shall say on that subject for the present. Need to keep my lips sealed. ;)  
**

 **Alright, my friends! I'm off to start my work week. Thank you again for stopping by and remember to leave a review! Until next time!**

 **-T**

* * *

 **REVAMP NOTES - _Here's what changed..._**

 **So a couple of things were changed with this chapter. On top of the regular tightening up of descriptions and fine-tuning dialogue, there was also some foreshadowing added. But the biggest change has to do with the lemony bits. The original version of this chapter was a whole lot smuttier - _unrepentantly_ so. **

**Dracula and Hera not only have a hot and heavy make-out session, but in the original, he is literally _all_ over her - in ways that were, in my personal opinion, inappropriate given their brief acquaintanceship. **

**Actually, in the original version of this story as a whole, the vast majority of the smut and lemony bits were, for the most part, just fan-service. But upon reading it several years later (aka: last summer when I started this revamp project), I saw Dracula's actions as rather OOC given the context, not to mention just grossly unfitting and unnecessary, and it really sent the wrong message, I think.**

 **When I started rewriting decent chunks of this story, a lot of the original lemons and smut were either toned down _dramatically_ or removed altogether. This was one of the instances where it was severely toned down. **

**In short - what primarily changed in this chapter was the purpose or focal point of the scene as a whole. I tried to have the main focus less on the eroticism** (although it still has it's place in the chapter) **and more on the power-play between both Hera and Dracula - the Count's influence and seduction, and Hera's blatant defiance. Hopefully I did my job well.**

 **If you would like to point out where I did well and where I could use some improvement for future reference, please feel free to share!**


	10. The Beautiful Killers

**Greetings my dear readers!**

 **I was going to wait until Monday to share this with all of you** (and I can already hear Roux Barcelone laughing in the distance because I can't stick to an update schedule to save my life) **, but Monday seems so far away, and though I have it in me to be extremely patient in many things, this just isn't one of them. So as my little weekend present to you guys, you'll get this now.**

 **Before you read the newest chapter, I wanted to take a moment and thank all of those who read, favorited, followed, and reviewed earlier this week; and an extra special thanks to my reviewers for your wonderful feedback! -** the invisible reader **,** Scarlet Empress **,** She-Devil Red **,** RegencyPoet **,** Bloodisred **,** jenny **,** 12345678910 **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** ShadowSpade **, the lovely** Guest **,** DreamBubbles **, and** alexc1209 **. Thank you for your glorious responses to the last chapter and for your continued support. It truly does mean so much that you take the time out of your undoubtedly very busy lives to not just read, but to tell me what you thought. I have already learned so much from your responses on ways I can improve and things I'm already doing correctly, so thank you! You guys are the greatest!**

 **Also wanted to send out one last huge thank you to my beta -** _sleepy bibliophile_ **\- for her original edits, and an extra special shout-out to** _RegencyPoet_ **for the sanity check reviews/edits and last-minute fine-tuning on a couple of my chapters before I posted them. I truly admire your attention to detail and can't thank you enough for your assistance.**

 **Forgive any errors that may have been overlooked and enjoy!**

* * *

 **X**

 _ **The Beautiful Killers**_

Hera kept mostly to herself for the next couple of days. She never would relate the tale of what had happened in the stacks of the late Doctor Frankenstein's library, what she had let Count Dracula to do to her.

She had _willingly_ allowed the vampire to seduce her.

And if there was at least one thing Hera understood with the utmost clarity, it was that she would never admit or tell anyone – upon pain of death or damnation – that she had thoroughly enjoyed every agonizing moment of it.

She'd never confess that she dreamed about it, fantasized about it – about what would have happened if he hadn't stopped, if he had taken it further.

Hera _would_ acknowledge, however, how dangerous Count Dracula truly was. His powers and abilities had always seemed somewhat vague to her, particularly when she had viewed him as nothing more than a myth, a character in a film. But knowing firsthand what he was capable of made her respect him on certain levels. It was very evident that he was not a man to be taken lightly.

In her mind, Dracula was a manipulator of the worst kind – the type of man that would coax and influence, convincing his prey that perhaps he too was enjoying the experience, that the pleasure and enjoyment were mutual, making the situation less ugly than what it actually was. But Hera was certain that he felt nothing at all. It was all an act, an elaborate performance, and the fact that she had fallen so easily for the charade only made the truth more unsettling.

She was finally beginning to fathom the greatness, the vast limitlessness of his influence, particularly his abilities of seduction, and though she was still deeply fascinated by him, she was also much more wary of him now.

No longer did she have a desire to explore the Transylvanian mountains or join Velkan on his encouraged visits to the seemingly empty Castle Frankenstein. That castle wasn't abandoned and Hera was determined to stay as far away from the place as possible.

After a time, Velkan stopped asking her to go up with him to the castle, and sooner rather than later it was as though he had somehow forgotten the entire ordeal of that fateful evening.

One thing he could not forget, however, was the daily intensifying feelings he had for Hera. He hadn't tried to kiss her or anything of the sort since their visit to the castle. In fact, because Hera had acted as though it had never happened, the prince decided to follow her lead and do the same, even if the deprivation only made his cravings stronger. He had tasted of the sweet passions she could inspire, and the man desired more.

Unknowingly to all, the Count was experiencing similar sensations.

He too found himself yearning for the delicious fervor the mortal had incited during their "meaningless" set of kisses. Dracula was convinced that what he felt for the mortal wasn't anything outside of the usual lust, but during those long daylight hours, she plagued his thoughts as he slumbered and he'd awake in the evening parched and eager for another opportunity to partake at the fountain of her lips.

Both men did, and Hera was blissfully ignorant to the precarious situation she had unwittingly placed herself in. For being a supposed genius, the woman had it in her to be terribly oblivious. Hailey had always teased Hera for lacking street-smarts, though maybe ignorance was her best option at present.

Hera spent a good portion of her time in solitude during the next few days, often hidden away in the confines of the Valerious family archives among the stacks of virtually untouched volumes and scrolls, looking for any information on Dracula – perhaps an old journal of a deceased relative that could give her insight into how to deal with the man and monster.

Her study on this particular subject, however, always ended with her fantasizing about the vampire, which in turn led to flushed cheeks, pleasurable knots in her stomach, and a sudden need for some fresh air. She had never felt so violated and manipulated in her life, and as appalling as it was, she could not deny the alarming degree of desire that the undying man had created within her, as if she had been asleep her whole life and was finally on the verge of waking up for the first time – albeit gradually.

Despite the private sexual awakening, everything else about Hera's naturally bright demeanor felt muted, and both of the Valerious siblings had noticed.

By the end of the month, Velkan was planning on taking a group of men from the village up to the Borgo Pass to see if they could locate Castle Dracula within the Carpathians, since no one had heard anything from Boris Valerious in over a month. Although Anna insisted she go with him, Velkan begged her to stay behind, to which she reluctantly agreed. Hera remained silent on the matter, figuring she had no place in this time period and no reason to include her opinion.

So, at long last, the house was left to the women, and the affairs and welfare of the town were placed on the shoulders of Anna Valerious. But with the continued absence of Count Dracula and his brides, the princess was quickly left with nothing to do. The lack of action left the princess to furiously pace the armory in an agitated manner.

The gypsy princess hated idleness, sitting around uselessly and with no mission to accomplish. In truth, she was opposed to free-time in general. She was the type that thrived off of being busy, and with her brother gone and Hera keeping quietly to herself, she had nothing with which to fill her time.

She forced herself to stop pacing as she grumbled in annoyance. _What to do… what to do…_ the princess thought to herself, tapping her fingers incessantly against her folded arms. Anna glanced out at the window. It had to be around mid or late afternoon by now.

Where was Hera during all of this maddening free time?

Since curiosity was the only thing Anna had to explore, she ventured out of the armory and decided to start searching for Hera. She looked in all the usual places: the library, the archives, her bedchambers, and the dining room. That left only one more haunt – the gardens.

 _In this weather?_ the princess thought to herself.

Anna, exhaling in defeat, pulled on her coat and headed outside.

It had grown much colder in the past few weeks. The sky was clear every evening, and during the day, it was overcast, blocking the sun from shinning its welcoming rays onto the rather tensed and heavy-laden village. Not so much as sighting a vampire for this long was rarely a good sign.

Anna trudged through the snow, a chilling breeze rustling through her hair.

"Hera?" she called out into the wonderland of ice and snow. She turned the bend towards the gardens.

"I'm over here, Anna!" came the sound of the woman's voice.

Anna narrowed her eyes a bit to see Hera sitting curled up on a stone bench, dressed in a heavy black and burgundy cloak, her hair wrapped up in a pashmina scarf so only a few strands of her hair could be seen, a book in hand… of course. The gypsy couldn't help but smile as she made her way over to the woman who was crazy enough to be reading outside in _this_ kind of weather when there were perfectly good fires blazing within the manor.

Hera looked up from her novel and removed the ear buds from her ears, turning off the music she had been listening to.

"You finally got bored enough to come looking for me," Hera pointed out.

Anna's grin turned sheepish as she rubbed her hands together before thrusting them into her pockets, trying to ward off the cold.

"I'm pathetic, I know."

Hera snapped the volume shut and placed her iPod into the pocket within her cloak as she swung her legs off the seat, making room for Anna to join her.

"What were you reading?" Anna asked, apparently trying to strike up some sort of conversation.

The feeble attempt amused the redhead.

"Frederick Augustus Rauch's _Psychology, or a View of the Human Soul_." Anna nodded in an "uh-huh" sort of fashion, clearly having no idea who Rauch's was or what sort of things he wrote. Hera took pity on the princess and decided to change the subject. "Besides fighting and hunting, is there anything you enjoy doing, Anna?"

"You make me sound so barbaric."

Hera laughed.

"I didn't mean to. I promise."

"It's alright," she assured the woman and she thought about the query for a moment. "I enjoy music, I suppose. My mother, from what I can remember, used to love it as well. She played the fiddle – something my grandfather had taught her. After she died, my father got rid of the instrument. He disposed of a lot of things that reminded him of her."

"How did she die?"

"I thought you knew?"

"I know she was killed by Aleera, but I'm not aware of the particulars."

Anna stood.

"Do you mind if we go for a walk or something? Otherwise I'm going to freeze."

Hera agreed and followed Anna as they wandered through the gardens and soon the outskirts of the woods that bordered the village itself. As they walked, Anna related the tale of her mother.

"My mother's name was Katarina, as you know. When I was a young child, my father used to say that she was the most beautiful woman in all of Transylvania, and that Aleera became so jealous that she killed her. When I was thirteen years of age, I learned the real story," Anna began, her eyes gazing in front of her in a thoughtful manner as if remembering…

"My mother never really cared for our family's war with Count Dracula," Anna began. "She met my father on one of his many journeys to Rome. She had gone there herself on holiday while my father went to pray for his family. They met, fell in love, and he discovered she was a native to Budapest. He accompanied her to her home and after a few months of courting, they were married and he returned home to Visceria with a new bride.

"Unfortunately, she was also unwittingly thrust into a war between my father's legacy and the Count. My mother was always very sympathetic to both sides. She had done her own research on the Count's history and she pitied him for the way my ancestor, Valerious the Elder, supposedly treated him. My father said she was soft, weak for making excuses for Dracula. Others said she was the most compassionate woman who ever entered this war. And compassion is what killed her.

"She had caught Aleera terrorizing a little girl, a young orphan whose father had just been killed by Marishka and Verona. My mother intervened and Aleera tortured and then finally fed from my mother instead. But instead of sucking her dry and putting her out of her misery, Aleera left my mother alive, feeding her just enough of her own blood to turn her into what my family was struggling to destroy. When my father found out what she had become…"

Hera watched out of the corner of her eye as Anna briskly wiped away the tear that had started to tumble down her cheek and seeing the princess thus moved the young woman. It was clear the ending of this story was too painful to narrate, so Hera finished it for her.

"Your father had to kill her, didn't he?" Hera asked. The princess took a deep breath, getting control over her emotions as she nodded, confirming her suspicion. "Anna, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

"It's alright. I will see her again. We Transylvanians always look on the brighter side of death."

Hera chuckled, recognizing this bit of dialogue.

"There's a brighter side of death?" she mused.

"Of course. It's just harder to see…"

Hera smirked. Oh, all she needed now was an appearance by Van Helsing and everything would be "complete". But they still had a good many months to go before he'd arrive.

After talking rather at length about the war with Dracula, the sun began to sink behind the horizon, the clouds that had been looming overhead all day dissipating in a matter of minutes as a visage of diamond stars appeared in the sky that now resembled velvet the shades of midnight blue, a dark, rich violet, and the deepest black.

Hera was quickly learning that night skies here in Transylvania were infinitely superior to anywhere else she had ever been. Perhaps it was the atmosphere of the place, or some secret enchantment, the supernatural forces at work. Whatever it was, she had never seen stars so beautiful.

Eventually, the women decided to eat supper in the village. Although the town itself seemed cold and lifeless from the outside, within the wood walls and behind the filthy glass of the old windows was a warmth and spirit that surprised Hera time and time again. Life had been undeniably difficult for the people of Visceria, and though to a stranger they might appear harsh and depressing, in that moment – in the dead of night ironically enough – they were absolutely teeming with life.

Lively music was being scratched out on the worn strings on a fiddle and thumbed masterfully on a guitar while nearly the entire company sang along to the familiar tunes. Some played cards while others enjoyed the other's company over a hot and savory meal and some of the foulest beers Hera had ever tasted. Laughter constantly rolled throughout the room as jokes were told or people attempted to sing.

The scene was fascinating to Hera.

These people who had lived with death always lingering on their doorstep were so happy and blissful, even with all the losses they had experienced, the tragedies, the heartaches, the horrors. They still chose to smile, to keep on living, and for the first time in Hera's life did Anna's traditional saying truly make sense: There must've been a brighter side of death, because everyone in Visceria could see it.

To Anna, it meant being reunited with her mother, an end to the nightmares that never slept here in Transylvania. To the villagers, it meant an end to the horror. They were all united in a single belief that any shred of light can dispel the darkness. In that moment, as Hera watched Anna dance around and sing with some of the locals, she wasn't their princess. She was their equal.

Hera took another drink of the cooled beer in her mug as she continued to observe the others crammed within the inn. As of right now, they were all singing the most ridiculous folk song Hera had ever heard. From what she could translate, it was about a girl who was so in love with her reflection, one day she looked into a well and fell inside, only to be saved by the boy she had called ugly just the day before.

Hera snickered throughout the entire thing as she listened, Anna having moved back to her seat at the table, still humming to herself.

"Are they always like this?" Hera asked curiously.

"Who? The people? Not always. Though they usually come to life in the evening."

"Clearly."

"So, in your time, are there any crazy folk songs that everyone knows?"

"Of course, but I think the ones in the future are far more scandalous than any of those I've heard tonight. Before I arrived, my generation had developed this bizarre fascination with singing about butts."

"The future sounds so strange," the princess said with a laugh before taking a long drink. "I'm so glad we came here tonight!"

"I can see that," Hera replied with a knowing smirk.

"How do you get your hair to change colors like that?" Anna suddenly asked, taking one of the stray locks that had escaped the pashmina wrap that Hera's hair was tucked away in.

"Hair dye," the young woman explained. "Remember, we had this conversation thirty minutes ago? The marmalade color is pretty much all faded now."

"I like your hair better like this anyway. The other color reminds me too much of Aleera."

"And we can't have that, now can we?"

"It doesn't matter. You're a lot nicer than Aleera is anyway," the princess proclaimed and Hera just chuckled in amusement as Anna got up again, grabbing one of the local village men by the hand.

The pair began to dance about the inn, the company all clapping to the rhythm of their steps before Anna and her partner suddenly tripped over one another's feet, toppling over onto the floor. The room exploded into a fit of laughter.

Anna was drunk.

And drunk-Anna was kind of hilarious.

But, like all happy moments, this one was soon shattered by a shrilling laughter that rang out in the night air like an icy wind, the music screeching to an abrupt halt as an eerie hush fell over the crowd. Every eye in the room began darting about, some looking up at the ceiling while others quickly turned to the windows and doors.

Hera knew that laugh from somewhere, but where, she couldn't be sure. But by the expression on Anna's face, Hera could tell that the princess recognized who it was.

"Oh God. They're here…"

"Who?" Hera asked unwittingly.

It should have seemed obvious, but the alcohol in her system was hindering her usual astuteness. Anna stood up slowly as the villagers all listened to the laughter that echoed in the night. It was almost beautiful – like a siren song, although a tad shrill. The gentleman that Anna had been dancing with earlier, his name she had learned was Aurel, stood up and glanced over at Hera.

"The brides," he whispered, but everyone heard what he said, the two words, as if on cue, followed by that unnerving laughter, now accompanied by two other familiar voices.

"Dracula's brides?" Hera clarified.

Aurel nodded his head solemnly as Hera's gaze turned back to Anna who was staring at the window that led to the outside cold, the glass obscured with fog from the contrasting heat inside of the inn. Anna's eyes were fixed, as though she had seen something.

"Lock the door and close the drapes," she whispered to the innkeeper who immediately obeyed as the villagers huddled together around their warrior princess.

The anxiety and tension in the room quickly became oppressive. Mothers grabbed hold of their children as the men held to their wives, standing in front of them in a protective manner. The barmaids hid behind their customers and all hid behind Anna, their fearless leader.

"Hera," Anna called softly and she motioned for her to join the rest of the group.

The woman was about to comply, but the sounds of the brides just outside the building rang out once more and Hera froze in place when it dawned on her who was laughing. She knew that laugh.

A chill ran down Hera's spine.

"Aleera," she breathed almost inaudibly. The shrill was joined by the sound of another crawling about on the rooftop above them, the voices muted, yet distinguishable. "Marishka…"

Hera's eyes found Anna's, the princess having unsheathed her silver-plated sword, the one that had been blessed by the pope in Rome on one of her father's many visits. Oh, did she silently pray that it would accomplish the purpose for which it had been made: to destroy the devil's concubine – particularly that of the red-haired vampire.

"Can they get in here?" Hera asked quietly.

"Oh they'll get in," the innkeeper said eerily. "They always get in. It starts with that laughter, and then the most deafening silence. And just when you think they've gone…"

Suddenly, the sounds outside the inn ceased and the night became still and silent once more, but the tension in the air was heavy, so heavy Hera was certain she could feel it weighing down on her shoulders, threatening to press her into oblivion. It was maddening, this uneasy quiet. She glanced back over at the innkeeper whose eyes were full of fear.

"They're here," he breathed.

As if on cue, the front door flew open and several of the women in attendance screamed as the wood shattered and went flying across the room.

"Knock, knock? Anybody home?" came a melodious voice from the mist that filled the doorway. It gradually began to dissipate as a woman appeared, dressed in the most evocative gown Hera had ever seen.

The newcomer was certainly beautiful, far more beautiful in person than initially anticipated. The color of her harem-styled attire was that of a deep pink, the shade accenting the fiery orange color of her hair. Her skin was deathly pale, soft and toned, her full, nubile breasts erupting from the front of her indecently low-cut gown, catching the attention of every eye in the room, male and female alike.

She walked with an arrogance and grace that strangely befitted her, like that of her master, her eyes dancing about the room. The bride stopped in the center of the establishment and placed her hands on her hips as a twistedly sensuous smile curved her red stained lips.

"Good evening, everyone," Aleera cooed. "Marishka, dear sister… they're all speechless!"

Another woman entered the inn through the shattered doorway, this one as beautiful as the first, although her attire was far more revealing than that of her counterpart. She was every part the smoldering temptress.

"They must have missed us most cruelly," Marishka purred, standing beside her sister.

Her luscious, wavy blonde hair matched the gold of her attire and the cat-yellow of her glowing eyes. Her toned stomach was a sight to be seen and for the briefest of moments, Hera caught herself envying the female's seemingly flawless physique.

Although each soul in the room knew the danger these women brought with them, that didn't mean that the two weren't candy for the eyes. They were every man's desire, sirens of the soul, molded from the darkest of fantasies.

 _Just like the Count must be for every woman,_ Hera silently mused.

Marishka and Aleera noticed Anna within the crowd and both women grinned toothy smiles as their canines extended.

"Hello, Princess," Aleera purred.

Anna stood her ground bravely as the other villagers backed away from the incoming bride, struck dumb with fear like stupid cattle being herded in a barn as Marishka growled at them tauntingly, threatening to pounce at any moment.

"It has been so long, your grace, since we last met," Aleera continued as she moved towards the gypsy princess.

One of the villagers went to run for the exit, the fear and stress becoming too much to bear, but Marishka grabbed him by the throat and threw him against the wall, knocking the man unconscious before he could obtain his freedom. She laughed wickedly as she stalked over to him, lifting him up as if his dead-weight were no trifle, and she placed him on a table before crawling on top of him, fangs bared.

"Aleera, darling, come feed!" she called. "Verona won't be back for a while longer."

"Fill me a glass, Marishka," the bride replied, her brown irises starting to turn an unnatural violet as she locked eyes with the Valerious in front of her.

Anna raised her sword to strike, but the vampire was too quick. She grabbed the princess by the wrist, knocking her sword out of her grip and holding tight, forcing the gypsy to her knees.

"That's right, Anna… bow to me…" the vampire mocked.

Hera watched as the remaining villagers took the brides' distraction as an opportunity to run for their lives. She, however, remained where she was, having gone unnoticed by the two women. Marishka got off her dead meal after sucking him dry and she licked her lips dramatically before joining her younger sister.

"A pity the master will not permit us to kill you as of yet," Aleera replied sourly.

"But he didn't say we couldn't taste her," Marishka pointed out.

"The master would not approve, Marishka," Aleera stated, but the look in her eyes said otherwise. The way she scrutinized Anna was borderline sexual and it even made Hera uncomfortable. "But what he doesn't know can't hurt him…"

Marishka grabbed Anna by the hair and pulled her head back slowly, running her long finger along the princess' neck, tracing her pulsating jugular.

"Such a beautiful throat, is it not sister?"

"Yes. I can't wait to scar it," Aleera hissed and she went to bite, but a chair collided with the back of her head, the wood smashing to pieces as it hit her skull. The vampire dropped the gypsy princess to the ground in surprise, Anna rendered temporarily unconscious when her head hit the edge of a neighboring table.

Aleera whirled around to find Hera, guilty and out of ideas.

The mortal noticed Anna's sword on the table beside her and she went to grab it, but the bride was much faster. She had the young woman by the throat before she could even reach her arm out and her back was up against a wall. A thought along the lines of "if I had a dollar for every time a vampire tried to choke me" humorously crossed Hera's mind, but it was gone within seconds.

"How dare you strike me!" Aleera growled venomously, her face contorting as the demon took over. "You shall pay for your foolishness!" and she threw Hera across the room and straight into the bar, the human's body colliding with the dozens of glass bottles of alcohols before she crashed onto the floor, smelling like a distillery.

Marishka took hold of the woman next and threw her across the room by her recently freed hair, laughing maniacally when Hera's body collided with a table. The mortal fell once more to the ground, thoroughly bruised and with a couple of ribs possibly broken. Marishka materialized over to Hera before Aleera could and she lifted the mortal up by her hair, the growl that reverberated in the back of her throat reminiscent of a lioness.

"What a pretty thing you are. You must be new," Marishka mused to herself. "Looks like you're not the only redhead around here anymore, Aleera."

Aleera snarled viciously at her sister and Marishka giggled in reply.

"I swear, I've seen your face before, though. What's your name?" the blonde then inquired. Hera cried out in pain when the vampire tugged at her hair to get her to speak. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that…"

Both vampires relished in the mortal's discomfort until something caught their attention – a faint scent that was coming from Hera and it made Marishka drop her immediately as both brides' faces contorted in jealousy and disbelief.

"Aleera, do you smell that?"

Aleera forced Hera to her feet, invading the young woman's personal space as she proceeded to sniff Hera's neck deeply, making her dreadfully uncomfortable. The bride recognized the smell and she snarled in a jealous rage, a look of death in her eyes.

"The master…" she hissed, forcing Hera against a wall, digging her talon like fingers into the flesh of the woman's upper arm. Hera winced and then cried out, but the brides were unmoved by her pain.

"She's the one," Marishka said. "It's been so long since the master had us watch her, I almost forgot what she looked like."

"Her hair is different, too."

"But I thought Verona said she'd be up at the manor? What is she doing here?"

Aleera's gaze held the look of promised death as she glared into Hera's bold, but pain-stricken eyes. She let her fangs lengthen.

"I don't care, but I will _not_ be so easily replaced," the bride vowed and she went to bite the mortal and suck her dry when someone sent her flying across the room, a whirl of white and green moving too fast for Hera's mortal senses to pick up.

It was Verona.

Hera had never been so happy to see the eldest bride of the Count in all her life.

"Do not touch her!" Verona shouted.

Aleera stood up quickly from the rubble of her collision with a table and she sent her superior a deadly look, but Verona only growled, baring her fangs and earning immediate obedience from the youngest bride. When Aleera had finally backed down, Verona returned her attention to Hera, a cold expression on her face, but an apologetic look in her eyes.

"You must forgive my sister," she replied softly, her naturally deeper and sensuous voice reminding the mortal of dark chocolate. "She is a jealous and insecure child and is still learning the difference between the master's wishes and her own."

Verona then turned to Marishka and sent her a disapproving look.

"Marishka, I told you this was not a feeding journey, and the master said so as well. Must you be so gluttonous?"

"But I was hungry!" she whined.

Verona was all ice.

"The master might indulge your inability to obey orders, Marishka, but I will not!" she snapped and the blonde collected herself as Aleera joined her side. The vampires then simultaneously turned to Hera who looked at the three of them expectantly.

"Well, this a pleasure I certainly could have gone without," Hera replied as lightly as she could, trying to make her situation seem less… life threatening. "To what do I owe the great privilege and honor of a personal visit from not one bride of the Count's, but all three?"

"Technically you were only supposed to meet with Verona. Aleera and I were to draw out the princess by attacking the village," Marishka explained.

Aleera, meanwhile, made a face as she openly sized up the human, her scrutinizing discouraging to say the least. She looked genuinely disgusted.

"I don't see what the master wants with _her_ ," Aleera replied.

Hera felt something on her shoulder and she looked to see Marishka sniffing her skin, pulling the sleeve of her blouse to one side, exposing her entire shoulder and more of her neck. _Awkward_.

"His scent still lingers on her skin," Marishka informed the other two and she sent Hera a condemning look. "It's old, but it remains."

"What did he do with you, you minx?!" Aleera demanded, her insecurity very apparent.

"Silence, both of you!" Verona ordered. "The master does as he pleases and neither of you have the right to question him, or do you not remember the philosophies you so readily bestowed on me just a few weeks ago?"

"I just don't understand why he's so interested in a mere mortal when he has us," Aleera replied stubbornly. "Do we not please him enough?"

"Umm, excuse me?" Hera replied, getting the women's attention once more. "Yeah, hi. Uh… as fascinating as I'm sure the topic may be, I actually have no desire to hear about you three and your marital problems with Dracula. I just want to know what the hell he wants from me so we can just get that out of the way and move on with our very _separate_ lives."

Marishka chuckled.

"She's bold, this one. Not even princess Anna is so audacious."

"Or stupid," Aleera added under her breath.

Verona smiled almost approvingly at Marishka's compliment.

"Miss Garret is not intimidated by the master, nor does she fear us and our kind. She is neither for us nor against us."

Aleera, unlike her sisters, however, was not impressed with the human. In fact, she remained fixed in her spot, arms folded condescendingly.

"Then what good is she?"

The eldest bride rolled her eyes and looked over at the younger.

"Aleera, for the sake of my patience and your _face_ , you shall desist this instant or I will sew your mouth shut!" she snapped and the bride's lips pressed into a thin line. Verona then sighed heavily as she took hold of Hera's injured arm and healed it with just her touch, the blood retracing back to the wound, the skin and muscle stitching itself together. "I apologize again for how you've been treated," Verona replied nobly as she then ran her fingers over the damaged ribs below the mortal's right breast, healing the minor fractures as well.

"It's alright," Hera managed. "I suppose I shouldn't expect anything less from a first meeting with any of you vampires," she added, rubbing the ache out of her arm as Verona finished mending the cut on the woman's head, licking the blood off her fingertips with a hint of pure sensuality as the plasma swirled in her mouth. "What do you three want?"

"We come with a message from the master," Verona answered.

"A message that he wanted delivered to you directly," Marishka chimed in. "But he doesn't want you to tell anyone else about it."

"Why not?"

"He did not say. But considering the nature of the request he wishes to make of you, one can only assume."

"What does the Count want?" Hera inquired, suddenly wary.

"He desires to meet with you, at Castle Frankenstein the night after next. You're to come alone," Verona explained.

Hera made a face.

Dracula wanted to _what_? _Where_? Why? What could have possibly possessed him to…?

"As Marishka explained, she and Aleera were to draw the princess out so I could deliver his message to you in private in order to avoid any suspicions, but as you are here…"

"Makes sense, although I'm not quite sure why he'd want to meet with me in the first place. I have nothing he could possibly want and you can assure him I haven't told the Valerious family anything regarding his secret, nor have I any intention of doing so."

"He assumed you'd respond thus. The master also instructed me to tell you that his last meeting with you has given birth to several questions he desires to put before you personally. He also said he finds the extent of your knowledge and insight stimulating and hopes to create some terms with you on a regular correspondence."

"A regular correspondence?" Hera repeated with evident disbelief. "What, like letter writing?"

"No – in person. Most likely on a weekly basis. Since you insist on staying neutral, he believes that the best way to ensure you keep your word is to divide at least a portion of your time between the Valerious' and himself."

"So my word's not enough for him, then?"

"Evidently," Aleera muttered under her breath.

Hera grew quiet for several extended moments, weighing her options, not to mention grappling with the revelation that Dracula wanted to see her again. It was almost too much to swallow, and the most glaring question in the forefront of her mind at that moment was a resounding _why_? Why in God's name did he want to see _her_? Her of all people?

She knew very well that this "he wants to make sure you stay neutral" business was a front for something far more sinister. To make matters even more precarious, Hera also didn't care for the idea of being _alone_ with Dracula again, especially after what happened last time.

She didn't want to endure being mercilessly seduced and left alone and aching _again._ No way was she going to willingly be his plaything. Over her dead body.

"What is your response?" Verona asked dutifully as all three brides observed the mortal closely, waiting for her answer. Hera managed to straighten up a bit as she regained her composure, the picture of utter poise and serenity, despite the nature of her situation.

"Inform your _master_ that I wouldn't meet with him in private even if he offered me every assurance in world," Hera replied confidently, blatantly refusing his request to the astonishment of all three, yet to the secret pleasure of Aleera who knew her master's temper well enough to know that he wouldn't take to this refusal with grace and kindness… oh no. Her master was not _that_ patient, and especially when it came to insolent mortals.

"Would you also let him know that I think he is a disgusting, chauvinistic, womanizing prick, and I've met my share of pricks before, but that man is a fucking cactus. Oh! And another thing – If he ever, _ever_ tries to seduce me again, I will kick his godforsaken ass!"

Aleera covered her mouth in shock, while Marishka broke out into a fit of hysterical laughter. Verona however, remained dutifully tranquil, although Hera could see the hint of amusement in the bride's eyes.

"You do realize he won't be very pleased with your response," Verona said as Marishka continued to giggle in the background.

Hera just smiled confidently.

"Tell him that if he really wants me to take him seriously, perhaps instead of sending you three out to do his bidding, he could be a _real_ man for once in his life and ask me himself. I'm a human being – not some trained dog that comes running whenever he calls. And the way he treats the three of you is inexcusable – sending you out at all hours, no matter the danger. I understand that he may trust you, but there's a fine line between confidence in a person's abilities and straight-up neglect."

"I'll let him know," Verona said, struggling to hold back her diverted grin.

The bride wasn't entirely sure why, but she was grateful this mortal was foolish – or maybe it was brave – enough to challenge her master, especially considering the plans he had for her. It was refreshing to come across a person who wouldn't take his need for dominance lying down.

Hera may have been a woman out of time, but she was exactly what was needed to check the Count's out-of-control hunger for power.

Sure, the women of the Valerious line had always shown a similar fighting spirit, but theirs had been born out of blind hatred. Hera may have begrudged Dracula for his earlier treatment of her, but she did not despise him in the same way the likes of Anna Valerious did.

It would be an amusing battle of wills, to be sure, and Verona secretly hoped that Hera would give her master a run for his money.

"A friendly piece of advice, one woman to another – don't go wandering outside by yourself for a while… he'll try to catch you off guard," the eldest bride suggested as Aleera and Marishka moved toward the exit.

"Thanks for the warning. I'll be sure to stay indoors then," Hera replied.

"He will not be content with your answer, Hera," Verona warned, but the mortal merely smiled as she leaned against the frame of the door, looking up as the three vampires took off into the sky.

"Good," she said to the night air. "I don't want him to be."

* * *

 **So what do you think Dracula's reaction to Hera's "message" will be? What about his next move? What is your opinion regarding the Count's brides? Does anyone miss Velkan yet? ;)**

 **Would love to hear your predictions and feedback regarding the chapter. Thank you again for stopping by to read and I'll see you in the next chapter!**


	11. An Unexpected Knock at the Door

**Want to keep my author's notes brief for this one** (as the chapter is on the lengthy side) **but I would be amiss if I didn't send a shout-out to you lovely persons who reviewed the last chapter -** 12345678910 **,** the invisible reader **,** Scarlet Empress **,** She-Devil Red **,** RegencyPoet **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** jenny (you've read this before, haven't you?) ;) **,** alexc1209 **,** Bloodsired **,** Guest **,** DreamBubbles **, and** ShadowSpade **. You guys are seriously the greatest! Your feedback has proven to be immensely helpful and I truly cannot thank you enough.**

 **Admittedly, this chapter isn't entirely where I'd like it to be, but I've exhausted myself trying to get it "perfect"** (whatever _that_ is) **, so this is as good as it's going to get for the present. Maybe someday when I'm less burned out, I'll return and clean it up some more, but for the present, forgive the errors I undoubtedly overlooked and enjoy!**

 **Oh! And fair warning - the story rating is officially going up** (although not a whole lot happens in this chapter that warrants it going up, outside of some unsavory language and a hint of lemon/madness near the end. Nothing too scandalous just yet, but would rather be safe than sorry) **.**

* * *

 **XI**

 _ **An Unexpected Knock at the Door**_

"She said _what_?!" the Count exclaimed. His voice echoed off of the high ceilings as he whirled around to face Verona who had just concluded relating the story of Hera's obstinate refusal. "Are you certain that is what she said?"

"Word for word, master," Verona answered penitently, trying to stay as calm as she could, considering the evident frustration her master was now experiencing. His temper had a habit of being unpredictable.

Aleera and Marishka stood close behind the eldest bride, watching as the Count paced rather furiously in an attempt to properly organize this thoughts and assuage his current irritation. He had to be careful with his next move now, as there were evidently many layers to deconstruct and understand in Hera's words. The mortal was unlike anyone he had ever met before and if he wanted to obtain her utter allegiance, he needed to tread carefully.

"And she really called me a disgusting, chauvinistic, womanizing prick?" he clarified, the faintest hint of amusement in his tone.

"And she threatened you!" Aleera chimed in almost excitedly, but she hushed when she saw the look of warning in her master's eyes. "She was very rude, my lord," she corrected with timidity. "She seemed to suggest that you weren't a.. a real man."

Dracula rolled his eyes before returning his attention back to his eldest bride who sighed in part annoyance, part humiliation for Aleera's behavior. That woman needed to learn when _not_ to talk.

"Hera is a very bold mortal," Verona explained. "She does not fear our kind, nor does she fear you. I am concerned that if we don't create some kind of alliance with her soon, she will not stay neutral for long. She becomes increasingly attached to the Valerious with every day that passes."

Dracula continued to pace.

"I know, Verona, I know…"

"The prince's attentions to her have been particularly noted and if we don't act soon while he's away, her alliance with that family will become inevitable… and you said that she knows your secret…"

"Did it ever occur to you that I already considered that, Verona?" he interrupted with thinly veiled agitation.

His outburst resulted in the cowering of his brides as his control temporarily slipped.

"That infernal woman is like dry sand! I can't hold onto her! Just when I think I have her, she is fighting me, slipping through my fingers no matter how hard I squeeze," and he stared at his palm thoughtfully. "She may know some of my secrets, but not all of them. If she did, she would make certain that the Valerious family never let any of us within an inch of her. I need to use that ignorance against her while I still can, and soon before the prince makes his move. If she claims loyalty with the Valerious, we are done for!" and he angrily shoved a neighboring candelabra, unmoved when it crashed to the floor.

The three women huddled at the far end of the chamber jumped at the sound and the two youngest began to whimper.

"Master?" Marishka called timidly.

Dracula looked up at his fearful brides and he sighed, relaxing as he held out his hand.

"Come here, my love," he said and Marishka instantly came to him, nuzzling her face into his broad chest. He looked up at the remaining two and silently beckoned them as well, pleased as they obeyed one by one, first Aleera and then eventually Verona. The eldest stood behind him, arms wrapped around his middle, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

"What are we going to do, my lord?" the dark haired beauty whispered as Aleera and Marishka fawned over the man who barely took note of them.

"I'll think of something," he said resolutely and he leaned against her somewhat, pulling from her quiet strength. "I'll think of something."

* * *

The Count lingered within his private study in silence, the fire that burned in the hearth providing a useless heat and inadequate lighting as he paced back and forth, back and forth in front of his desk.

It didn't make sense to him.

Why was he so concerned about this Hera character? The plans he had were half-hearted at best and given her stubborn temperament, he wasn't entirely certain he had what it took to woo the woman not just in the physical sense, but emotionally as well. It would have been so much easier if he had just killed her when last they had crossed paths back at Castle Frankenstein. That had been the original intention – get what he wanted from her and then dispose of her when her usefulness had worn out.

But it hadn't worn out as expected.

And what was worse – he didn't want to kill her just yet.

Count Dracula _liked_ her.

He admired her boldness, her wit, and her stubborn will. He found the extent of her knowledge fascinating – and it undoubtedly worked in her favor that she was an incredible kisser, especially when deprived of shared control. Yes, toying with her had been more than just a power trip for him. Those tingles of pleasure that crawled beneath his skin still remained and her taste continued to linger on his tongue.

But there was one thing in particular that had been burned into his mind, and though he wished he could erase the image, he could not. Those sharp eyes of hers – the heed, the fire, the splash of innocence, the astonishing lust. Never before had he seen such attentiveness, such a keen sense of observation, and how hard it was to keep her gaze with his, so strong was her will.

He knew why he couldn't dispose of this Hera Garret, though doing so would certainly make his life easier.

She intrigued him.

She fascinated him.

Naturally, Dracula was convinced that what he was experiencing for the human was, at its core, a mere passing fancy, something that would undoubtedly pass the instant he conquered her; but in the meantime, he could not ignore the very really obsession that was developing within him with every passing day.

He wanted to talk with her again, wanted to linger a little longer in her presence. Outside of his more physical attraction towards the woman, he also had so many questions about the future, the state of the world she lived in, the technological and scientific advances. He craved stimulating conversation, a dialogue that would force him to keep on his toes and pay attention.

Count Dracula was woefully in need of a challenge, and Miss Garret was the perfect mountain to climb.

But she had threatened him, according to his brides.

She had _openly_ threatened him.

Dracula smirked at the thought of that mortal defying him, claiming that there would be consequences if he tried to manipulate her again. Sure, it vexed him to no end when impertinent mortals and immortals alike challenged his authority, but the fact that she wasn't scared was something he found deeply amusing.

Princess Anna was frightened of him – once more, another wonderful contrast between the two women living within the Valerious manor. But the thought of Anna sent an idea skidding across his mind and his lips curved into a grin that was borderline Machiavellian as he began to formulate a plan.

Perhaps he could pay the Valerious household a visit?

It had been years since he had done so.

* * *

Hera and Anna sat quietly in the library, the two of them curled up on opposite sofas by a fire, the former with a text of Transylvanian folklore propped open on her lap while the latter sharpened and polished various weapons in a mutually comfortable silence.

It had been almost a week since the incident in the village and though Anna had missed the entire conversation between Hera and Dracula's brides due to unconsciousness, Hera found it prudent to confide in the gypsy princess the events that had taken place leading up to and including that point – save her snogging-session with Velkan. Hera did, however, share a handful of details regarding her conversation with Dracula and the purpose for the brides' visit to the village, along with her own speculations, assessments, and personal suspicions as to why Dracula wanted to talk to her.

Hera had concluded that Dracula either wanted to ensure her neutrality, or he would attempt to compel her into choosing a side – an option Hera assured the princess would not even be considered. Naturally, Anna forbade Hera to go outside unaccompanied, even in broad daylight and Hera was contented with this prudent course of action.

Normally, the prospect of being confined indoors for an indeterminate amount of time was something Hera would fight, but given her present situation, she was grateful Anna was so adamant on keeping her away from Count Dracula. Staying inside meant being safe from the vampire and his poison-ridden lips.

The sound of a sigh interrupted Hera's reading and she glanced up at the princess who seemed thoroughly bored. Nothing of note had occurred since the brides' unexpected visit last week, which left Anna with absolutely nothing to do except sit and wait. Hera almost pitied the woman and her chosen stress pertaining to the whole ordeal with Dracula. Normally Anna was more in control, but with Velkan's continued absence and no word in over a week, her anxieties were understandable.

Settling better into the sofa, Hera allowed her mind to wander a bit, her thoughts naturally turning to the gypsy prince. Truth be told, she missed having him around. Sure, she loved Anna's company, but with Velkan, there was never a moment of dull silence.

Hera liked Velkan – although what existed between them was an infatuation and a forbidden one at that. But she loved the butterflies that fluttered inside of her each time she recalled their first kiss. How she wished Dracula hadn't spoiled that moment between them.

Dracula.

Her thoughts suddenly took a turn now towards the mysterious and lethally seductive Count. That man had the lips of an angel and the intentions of the devil himself. He was like dark food for the soul, and something about him made Hera feel wicked, sneaky, and deliciously filthy.

She was genuinely torn.

Both men were, technically speaking, off limits.

Hera made a face as she contemplated the strange "love triangle" – if she could even call it that – she now unwittingly found herself in. She always managed to fall for the unavailable men. It was apparently her curse in life – Velkan was betrothed to another, and Dracula was, for all intents and purposes, a villain married three times over. The _last_ thing she wanted was to be bound to that man and his three other brides for all eternity.

Although she could tolerate Verona if it came down to it, where she was sitting right now, she'd be perfectly happy to never see those three again. Sure, they had their good qualities, and Verona was certainly growing on her, but Hera could never live with them day in and day out. Never. Especially with a sadistic psychopath like Aleera. She shuddered at the thought.

"Forgive me, Miss Anna?" Hera and Anna both looked up to see Sorina, one of the maids, standing in the doorway. "Can I get you two anything?" she inquired as she moved over to the coffee table in the center of the sitting area and she began to pick up the remnants of the light snacks and drinks.

"I'm alright. What about you Hera?" Anna asked.

"Thank you, but I'm fine as well."

The maid nodded and turned to leave the room when she bumped into one of the other servants and both came crashing down with all the food.

"Sorina, you are so clumsy sometimes, I often wonder what we'll do with you," Anna replied teasingly as she made her way over to the servant and began to help her clean up the mess.

They were interrupted by the sound of someone knocking at the door and Anna sat up, exhaling loudly.

"Hera, could you help her with this? I've been expecting word from father and Velkan for days. Maybe it's the post."

Hera made a face as she knelt beside Sorina.

"At this time of night?" she mused. "I doubt it …" and she watched the gypsy princess stand up, dusting herself off of the crumbs on her lap before she left the room and made her way to the main foyer. Hera listened as Anna moved down the hall towards the front door, asking one of the other servants to go help clean up in the library. She then returned her attention to the preoccupied maid beside her.

"You've been kind of jumpy the last night or two, Sorina. Is everything alright?"

"I'm alright, Miss. Actually, to own the truth, I think I may be ill."

"Outside of your nervousness, you seem fine to me."

"True, but I've been seeing things on the grounds outside of the manor the last few nights."

"What kind of things?"

"Well, a man, to be specific."

Hera felt something unsettling in the pit of her stomach suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as she turned her head to look at the maid whose voice had grown more hushed as the conversation continued.

"Did you recognize this man?"

"I think so, miss, but I could be wrong."

"Who was he?"

"I think it was Co…" but she was never allowed to finish her sentence.

The sound of Anna screaming and slamming the front door rang out through the house and left an unpleasant tension to hang in the air.

Hera stood, leaning her head out into the empty hall, her ears acute to the silence.

"Anna? Anna, what is it? Everything okay?" Hera called cautiously as she moved over to the door slowly, the stillness in the air eerie and foreboding. The moment she stepped out into the hall, Hera noticed her friend standing in front of the door, holding it shut with all her might, everything locked and bolted. "What's going on?"

Anna turned her head of dark curls, eyes filled with fear.

"He's here," the princess whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Who?"

"Count Dracula."

" _What_?"

"It's true!" Anna insisted. "I opened the door and he was just standing there…"

"Did he say anything?"

"He just said 'hello Anna,' and I slammed the door in his face."

Hera tried to suppress her laugh.

"Anna, calm down. He can't get inside the house. You have to invite him in, remember? You didn't invite him in, did you?"

"Of course not!" the princess exclaimed, offended by the suggestion.

"Then why are you still trying to hold the door shut? What – are you expecting an unnatural gust of wind to blow open the door so he can come waltzing in?"

As if on cue, the entrance suddenly flew open and Anna went flying, her body colliding with Hera's as both women fell to the ground in a heap. Hera groaned as Anna rolled off of her and both women sat up, eyes on the entryway, only there was… nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The doorway was completely empty.

Not even footprints existed in the snow.

Just the night.

Hera began to sit up more, her eyes transfixed on the white night fantasy of snow and black trees, the sky up above, clear and brilliant. The candles and lights that had offered a comforting glow to the main foyer then blew out as an eerie white mist began to billow out in the courtyard, soon pouring in across the floor from the open door, extinguishing all the lights in the foyer.

The temperature in the room dropped dramatically to the point where both women could see their breath in the air. Hera and Anna glanced at one another with unsure expressions before standing as the mist encircled them both, yet touching neither, as if they were protected by something.

Hera, intrigued by this odd phenomenon, stared out towards the black night outside, eyes narrowing slightly when she sensed the presence of another, as though someone were watching her from the shadows, quietly beckoning. She could feel the darkness calling to her, something unseen lightly scratching in the back of her mind, urging her to let it – whatever _it_ was – in.

She took a step forward, determined to investigate this force further, but Anna grabbed her hand before she could step into the mist.

"Hera, no!" she called, holding to her arm in order to keep her from moving.

The instant Anna pulled the woman back, the presence vanished and the mist abruptly retreated from the room. When it was gone, the lights relit themselves and the temperature miraculously returned to normal as if nothing had happened.

But the door remained wide open and the two stood there in silence for a full minute before Hera, in an effort to dispel the tension, exhaled loudly.

"Perhaps he left?"

"How can you be sure?"

"He's not making an appearance, and everything is normal again."

"I don't know…" Anna began, but before she could even begin to protest, Hera had slipped out of her grasp and was moving for the door.

The princess reached out her hand and began to move toward the woman.

"Hera, what are you doing?! Get back here!"

Hera just smiled as she stopped at the threshold.

"I am going to prove to you that there's nothing to be scared of. In fact, I think you seeing Dracula was just a figment of your imagination."

Anna recoiled her hand as she nervously watched Hera step out into the night, her boots making a deep imprint in the freshly fallen snow just outside the door.

"Hera, I don't like this…"

But the woman would not be deterred as she continued to venture out into the snow. Hera shivered from the chill of the night, dressed in her dark riding pants, a thin blouse with the loose-fitting sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and a dark burgundy underbust corset with riding boots – and that was all. She had no weapons, no means of defending herself if in fact she needed to, and the cold seemed to devour her whole.

Anna remained just inside, shivering slightly as she watched Hera venture out a bit more, staring up at the house and then toward the sky.

"Hey! Dracula!" Hera shouted into the night. "Bat boy!"

Anna covered her mouth in shock.

"Hera, don't! He'll hear you! Come back inside!"

"Dracula! Where the hell are you?!" Hera continued. "What's the matter? You too scared to come out? Did Anna hurt you when she slammed the door in your face?! Aww! Poor baby! Go run home to your brides. They'll kiss it all better!"

Anna laughed quietly. Although Hera's actions were extremely foolish, that didn't mean it wasn't entertaining to witness.

"Hera… come back inside. It's freezing," Anna called warily.

Hera merely laughed as she spun around in circles in the snow, her eyes searching everywhere for the Count who she assumed wasn't even there anymore.

" _Vladislaus_!" she sang. "Come out, come out, wherever you are... _you Turk-loving prick..._ "

Nothing.

Deciding to give up, Hera shrugged and looked back at Anna to find her suppressing a chuckle.

"I guess you scared him," Hera announced, digging her hands into the pockets of her pants to keep her fingers from freezing. Anna sighed, regaining her composure.

"I suppose so…" she replied resolutely. "Come back inside, you'll catch your death out there!"

Hera was about to comply when a black blur of something came out of nowhere and pushed down hard on the back of her head, forcefully sending her face first into the ground. Hera could hear Anna screaming her name and she peered upwards, discovering a dark figure looming over her, the wet cold slowly sinking into her blouse and chilling her flesh.

She knew that figure… and those eyes.

"Hello, bastard," Hera answered behind the gritted teeth of a forced smile.

Dracula regarded the woman in the snow with an expression of dark amusement.

"Watch how you address me, Miss Garret. I have a low tolerance for those who disrespect me unprovoked. Cross me again and there will be consequences."

"Is that a kinky threat or just a regular threat?"

Before he could answer her baited query, they both turned to see Anna running outside, unsheathing her sword in the process.

"Let her go, you monster!" Anna yelled.

Dracula never moved.

He only considered the woman with severe apathy, remaining utterly composed and disinterested, even when the tip of Anna's sword tore through his clothes and into the taut, pale flesh of his chest, making the gory voyage straight through his body until it came out on the other side, covered in his dark blood.

Hera stared in amazement as the blood retraced itself off the blade of the sword and into his body with the weapon still intact.

Anna, on the other hand, viewed the spectacle with unadulterated shock as she released the hilt and backed up a few steps as Dracula continued to stand there, observing the sword in his chest with a diverted grin. He removed the weapon with relative ease and, for the sheer pleasure of watching Anna squirm, he licked the blood off the cold steel before examining the craftsmanship with muted interest.

"Are you quite finished, princess?" he asked.

"That… that sword is silver-plated… blessed by the pope himself! You… you should be…" Anna stammered, but she couldn't even get the words out.

"What? Dead?" he mused. "Princess, I had expected more from you. Your brother is rather dense to be sure, but you?" and he tsked mockingly while balancing the blade on one finger, evidently approving of the balance between the steel and the hilt. "You know, in my day, women didn't yield swords." He glanced back up at Anna. "Especially delicate little princesses. They could get _hurt_!"

With lightning reflexes, he stretched forth his hand, the power of his will sending Anna flying back towards the house, her sword slicing through the air after her, heading straight for her heart. Hera screamed and grabbed hold of the Count's extended arm, knocking him off his concentration slightly, so the sword swerved to the right and hit the house mere inches from Anna's head.

The gypsy princess sighed in relief and slid down to the ground, her gaze transfixed on her own weapon that nearly killed her. Meanwhile, Dracula had snatched Hera's wrist, forcing her to look at him.

"As for you, Miss Garret, you and I need to have a little talk," he added matter-of-factly.

"And what do you call what we're doing now, smart ass?" she snapped, her face still stinging from his slap. His grin was devilment itself as he pulled her sharply to her feet before wrapping an arm around her waist so their bodies collided, his face inches from hers.

"I meant in private," he cooed.

Before she could abuse him with more sarcasm, he had shifted into his hell-beast form, lifting her up into his arms, taking off into the night with Anna calling after them. Hera squirmed in his grasp, not at all liking the idea of being alone with this man again, and at night, no less!

"Let me go!" she demanded, trying to push herself out of his grip, but he only held tighter.

"Do you wish to fall to your death?"

She glared into his demonically marred face, surprised that despite his altered appearance, his eyes were still the same. Hera should have been terrified – and perhaps there was a small, more reasonable part of her that was. But she was too angry with him to indulge in fear, so she continued to beat him with her ineffectual fists, furious that he had the nerve to not only strike her, but kidnap her.

"It's better than being in your arms!" she shot. He smirked wickedly.

"So be it," and he threw her up into the air and watched as gravity took hold of her and she began to plummet to the earth.

Hera was too afraid to scream, the ground growing closer and closer at an alarming rate. Just before she could collide with the village down below, she felt something grab her by the ankle and yank her up into the sky again, the freezing air wrapping around her body as she rocketed high above the clouds. She only remained airborne for a matter of seconds, just enough time for her to take in the wonder of the night, the embroidery of the stars in a tapestry of black and blue, the call of the wind like a nocturnal concerto – what lay beneath her: the sea of endless clouds.

Oh, if only she could stay up here forever, if she were permitted to get lost in her love of the stars, but gravity was a cruel mistress and it pulled once more as she fell through the clouds and towards forest down below.

As she made her rapid descent, Dracula was nowhere in sight and for the briefest of moments, she was certain he had left her to die, but before she could hit the forest below, a pair of strong, clawed hands grabbed her by her forearms, swinging her slightly so her arms wouldn't dislocate from her shoulders.

Although the spectacle below her was beautiful, the cold stole her breath, the dampness of her clothes only making it worse.

"Where are you taking me?" Hera finally managed to shout up at the vampire. He flashed her a wry grin, motioning for her to look ahead. What she found was Castle Frankenstein, dark and abandoned, covered in snow. Hera rolled her eyes. "Great. You really meant it when you said 'somewhere private.'"

Dracula said nothing as he flew down towards the courtyard of the castle, dropping Hera carelessly to the snow covered doorstep before landing effortlessly himself as she struggled to stand. Before she could even catch her breath or send him a snide remark about how he could have killed her, he had her by the wrist and was pulling her into the castle, the doors shutting behind them with the very power of his will.

"Hey, Dracula? I can walk without you dragging me like I'm some kind of belligerent child."

He ignored her comment and instead led her up the stairs, his stride and pace almost too fast for her to keep up with. By the time they got to the second story in the west wing, Hera, though a bit winded, had an idea of where they were heading and she started to struggle against him.

"Oh, _hell_ no!" she exclaimed. "I'm not going to be alone in that room with you again… no fucking way!" and she dug her heels into the floor, trying to pull against him, but they only drew closer to the library.

"You don't have much of a choice, Miss Garret," he explained, unfazed by her defiance. "Don't worry. I won't bite you…"

She sent him a dark look.

"That's _not_ what I'm worried about."

Dracula opened the entrance to the library with a rough shove of his free hand before throwing Hera into the room, slamming the oak doors shut behind him.

Hera rolled over onto her back so she could look up at him.

She didn't care for the look in his eyes.

It was dark and wolfish.

"God, do you have to be so damn aggressive?" she retorted, rubbing the wrist he had bestowed his death-grip upon and she forced herself to her feet. "What do you want?"

Dracula lifted his gloved hand and unclipped his cloak and she watched as he removed it, laying it over the back of a chair before taking a step toward her. There was something unholy in those eyes of his, the expression sending chills down her spine. He removed his leather gloves next and tossed them aside with his cloak, then proceeding to unbutton his jacket and Hera's eyes got wide as she backed away from him, hands held up in futile defense.

"What are going to do? Rape me?"

He stopped mid-step, laughing at the suggestion, opening his jacket simply for ventilation.

"Rape you?" he mused. "Don't flatter yourself, _human_. If I wanted sex, I wouldn't need _you_ for that. I have far more agreeable and experienced women at my disposal who are more than willing to fill that position. Why would I desire some impertinent mortal with little training and no imagination?"

Hera, although internally relieved, sent him a nasty glare. There were some unsavory insults in his response and her temper immediately flared in retaliation. How dare he treat her like this!

"Why you son of a…" she began, her wounded pride making her stupid as she marched toward him, hand raised to slap his face, but he seized her wrist mid-flight and held it tight, pulling her close, their faces inches apart.

"But if you want to play that game, I'd be more than happy to oblige," he purred. "Heaven knows what a… _pretty_ little thing you are. You're hardly touched. So many things to explore…" and he looked her up and down with an erotic gleam in his eye.

Hera was glaring daggers.

"You are the last man on earth I would _ever_ sleep with, willingly or not!"

He swung her around, her wrist still in his grasp as he forced her to move in whatever direction he pleased.

"Are you sure?" he cooed. "Because last time…"

"Last time?" she exclaimed, forcing out a laugh. "Last time you got in my head and manipulated me!"

He chuckled, releasing her wrist but pushing her against the back of the sofa first.

"You enjoyed it."

"No, I didn't," she insisted, but he saw right through her as he continued to advance, amused that she was now backing away into the library itself, a labyrinth of shelf after shelf of books. "I was a prisoner of your stupid mind game."

Dracula suddenly vanished before her eyes, but she could still feel his presence in the room.

"Seduction has nothing to do with me controlling your mind, if that's what you're insinuating," came his voice from behind. She spun around to see nothing but books and darkness. "However, it has everything to do with what _you_ desire, what your body already longs for. If you truly didn't want it, it would have been easier to resist."

Hera spun around but still he was nowhere to be found. She knew he was still in the room – she could feel him, his presence heavy, though not entirely in an unpleasant way as it left her resolve weak and body aching.

She started backing further and further into the maze of bookshelves, the moon her only source of light as she made her way down another aisle, trying to escape Dracula's voice. It was like he was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

"You crave it now, Miss Garret. I can smell it on you."

"Your sense of smell must be off then, Count, because one has to wonder – why on earth would I want a dead guy when I could have a gypsy prince with a beating heart?" she challenged.

She heard Dracula's growl of disdain when she mentioned Velkan – but was it disdain? Or jealousy? Either way, his reaction told her that she could use this to her advantage.

"I thought you said you didn't love the gypsy prince?" came his voice from above.

Hera looked up to see him standing on the second floor above her, but he disappeared from her sight within seconds.

"You don't have to love someone to have sex with them, Dracula – you of all people should know that," she replied with noted snark. "Even though my feelings are none of your concern, I said I didn't know if I loved him. I'm still in the process of making up my mind."

"Oh?" came the Count's voice from behind and before she could turn around, she had backed into him. "So your heart is not as easily swayed as I initially believed. That's encouraging," he mused, watching as she bolted down the aisle and into another one, trying to escape him, but she only found him at the end of the row she had chosen, mindlessly thumbing through a random book.

"How is that encouraging? I'm more likely to claim loyalty to Velkan before I ever claim loyalty to you," she muttered under her breath, ready to run again, but he appeared before her once more, advancing, forcing her to back away.

"So what are your feelings for Prince Velkan, as of right now?" he asked rather bluntly as he continued to move forward.

"Like I said, I haven't decided," she panted, a bit out of breath from trying to outrun this vampire. "What are my feelings to you anyway? It's not like you care..."

"Oh, on the contrary, Miss Garret," he purred, evidently pleased when he had cornered her, relishing in how her heart raced as he grew ever closer. "Any favor you may have for the Valerious family is very important to me. But it's not merely your allegiances I wish to understand, but you, Miss Garret. You intrigue me. Your spirit, your intelligence, the sparkle in your eyes. You do not fear me and I can't help but want to understand why. Everyone else does. What makes you the exception, I wonder?"

He was close… too close.

Their bodies were barely a few inches apart and it would be any moment now before he'd cross that line and make their proximity intimate.

"I already answered that question. I have no reason to fear you," she said, unable to pry her eyes away from his. Her heart was racing in her chest, though it most certainly was not in fear and he noticed that immediately.

The Count towered over her, his appearance dark and foreboding, but the sexual tension he created with just his presence drove her mad. His hands were on either side of her, blocking her escape routes and she watched helplessly as he leaned in closer.

 _This is a familiar position_ , her mind mused.

"Are you so sure of that?" he whispered, eyes glowing that unearthly blue, the color of his irises a hypnotic swirl of blue and silver, wrapping her mind in a sheet of mild euphoria.

"Yes."

She was fully aware of how close they were and perhaps even conscious of the power he now held over her, but her cravings, those primitive urges that he incited in her were awake and violently demanding liberty as reason started to get pushed to the back of her mind. The tip of his nose brushed against hers very softly, the cool of his breath fanning her face while the addicting heat that escaped her own mouth gently caressed against his.

God, he had only been this close to her once before, and he just realized how much he had missed her warmth. The life teeming within her was beautiful and in the back of his mind, he wondered what it would feel like to thaw against the heat of her body.

"What if I threatened to take you?" he breathed. "Right here against this shelf, with nothing but these dusty tomes as our witness? I suspect that you'd fight me for all of five seconds before surrendering."

"That's if you can even get it up," Hera shot back without missing a beat. "You have no heartbeat, Count. Blood circulation should be physically impossible for you."

"You could always drop that mask of disinterest you insist on wearing and find out the truth for yourself."

"Says the man who not five minutes ago said he'd rather have sex with a host of other women rather than with some… how did you describe me? An impertinent mortal with little training and no imagination?"

"Are you offering to prove me wrong?"

"What, and grant validity to your sexual harassment? I think not."

Dracula laughed in genuine amusement.

"So much bravery and fire in the face of danger. I'm beginning to wonder if you truly comprehend the precariousness of your situation, Miss Garret. If you did, perhaps you would not be so audacious in my presence."

"I may not be able to outmatch you in terms of physical strength, but I am not completely defenseless."

"Is that so?" he mused darkly. "You have no weapons, no means of escape, and no hope of being rescued. Forgive me for contradicting you, spitfire, but you seem rather helpless from where I'm standing."

"Perhaps, but you've overlooked one key thing, Dracula."

"And what might that be?"

"I have something you want. I may not understand what that is at present, but if I was as at risk as you suggest, then you would have disposed of me ages ago."

The vampire smirked, brow arched somewhat as he considered her.

"Are you so certain that I could have some use for you, Miss Garret? For all you know, my face could be the last one you see. The very breath you take in this moment could be your last, and you'd never know until it was too late."

His irises began to glow as he held her gaze, matching her defiant will. She fought him with every fiber in her being, but the close proximity in which they stood was causing her treacherous flesh to heat up. She felt flushed and achy as an onslaught of memories of what his kisses were like suddenly attacked her mind.

He was toying with her again.

The air between them – what little of it there was – was rife with a fusion of sexual tension and an underlying degree of very real danger. Hera understood that although the Count's words and proximity to her person were designed specifically to seduce and manipulate, she could not ignore the frosty bite in his tone, the subtle suggestion of menace lingering on the fringes of his words.

Oh, how she loathed this man, but that loathing was one gentle nudge away from a bewilderingly intense passion and she knew it.

And so did he.

There was something animalistic between them, a primitive kind of attraction that neither Hera nor the Count could fully articulate or understand, but it was palpable in the air as they stared hard at one another in a silent battle of wills.

"I'm not afraid of you, Count Dracula. Do your worst," Hera dared him.

She was convinced when he didn't react right away that he would back down, that he wouldn't acknowledge the tension now pulsating between them.

But then he was holding her face with both hands and his mouth was on hers, and Hera could suddenly feel the earth spinning beneath her feet.

The young woman could barely suppress the moan building in her throat when she became aware of his hands on her body, his selfish tongue prying apart her lips so he could explore every crevice of her mouth. Dracula pushed her roughly against the bookshelf at her back before pressing his body against hers, heightening both of their delight. His fingers wrapped around the side of her blouse and with a sharp tug, he pulled it to one side so he could free her shoulder, unintentionally revealing the tops of her full bosom.

The vampire had momentarily lost himself.

His onslaught was intense, aggressive, and Hera – as he had predicted – surrendered to passion with extraordinary ease, melting most willingly into his strong and capable arms.

She loved how powerful he was, how desperate he acted, how firm his body felt against hers. But in the back of her fevered brain, her subconscious began to wonder – there had to be a more logical explanation for this behavior, some deeper reason. But what? Was he doing this to manipulate her, to control her?

Her mind was given no time and no room for thought as she felt his dull teeth sink into her shoulder and she whimpered as he gently bit the flesh before running his mouth along the side of her neck, never drawing blood, but nibbling just hard enough so she'd moan for him.

The scent of her arousal had hijacked his brain. It was like being high – his head light and spiraling out of control and the only thing that seemed steady in all the world was this infuriating woman and the taste and feel of her tongue dueling with his.

Dracula paused for only a moment to let her catch her breath. She noted the look of wolfish desire in his eyes and though it was incredible, it frightened her. He growled deep within his chest before kissing her again, steering her out of the maze of the shelves and into the lounging area of the library. She had to hold onto him to stay upright, his lips and tongue making her tremble with a mind-numbing pleasure she had never felt in all her twenty-five years of life.

Hera's brain hummed as the only sounds that reached her ears were their mouths colliding and the soft, indistinguishable noises in his throat whenever she kissed him back or when her fingers - as he had restrained her wrists with one of his hands, pinning them between their bodies - briefly grazed against his front. She felt her butt hit the side arm of one of the sofas and she leaned back, trying to pull away from him so she could properly breathe, but he only pulled her closer, his mouth playing over the angle of her chin, dragging that tongue of his along the skin of her throat.

The way he breathed her given name made her dizzy and wet, and when his starving mouth found hers once again, she could feel that nagging voice of reason clawing its way through her screaming hormones.

Why was he doing this?

This was so out of character for him, to act with such carnal desperation, to allow a mere mortal like herself to distract him, to permit the defiance she had bestowed on him.

Why the sudden change? Or was this just how he truly was the whole time and she hadn't known?

Either way, if they kept kissing like this, she was certain she'd make a mistake she would later regret, so she started to pull away from him again, gradually this time. When his mouth reached for hers, she placed her hand on his chest in a futile effort to put distance between them.

"Count?" she breathed, her voice slightly higher pitched than anticipated.

"Yes?" he panted, worshiping the corners of her mouth as one hand smoothed along her back and the other shifted through her hair.

"Did you miss me or something?" she teased.

That got him to stop and he rolled his eyes in reply.

"Don't flatter yourself. You moved first."

She laughed, placing both hands on his chest to push him away so she wouldn't fall back and over the arm of the sofa.

"Yeah right, don't go trying to pin this one on me, Dracula. You're the one who grabbed my face and kissed _me_!"

"You said to do my worst," he insisted, straightening his disheveled clothes. "And believe me, that wasn't it."

"Oh I don't doubt it, although seriously, I think you may have bruised me," and though she said the words in the jest, the way he was studying her neck and shoulder made her curious.

He looked concerned.

Unbeknownst to Hera, the Count's mind was a whirlwind of confusion as his brain came to grips with the consequences of his brief moment of carnal insanity.

What had come over him?

He lusted after her, to be sure, but to the point of this level of aggression, and when they had barely known each other? The mention of Velkan coupled with her defiant commentary and foolish challenge must have set him off. For the briefest of moments, Dracula wondered if a part of him – albeit a small part – was jealous of the very real chance that this woman would allow herself to be claimed by someone as undeserving as Velkan Valerious.

But the entire thing from beginning to end was so out of character for him. He had it in him to be passionate, certainly, but never to this extent, and _rarely_ with a stranger or friend of the enemy. Even when in the throes of lust, he was usually still dignified and in control.

But _this_ – and he stared at the flushed markings he had left on her neck and shoulder.

Dear God, who was this woman and what was she bringing out in him, he wondered to himself.

"Count? Are you all right?" she asked carefully.

The sound of her voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he straightened himself, nodding a bit curtly.

"Of course," he said impassively. "Excuse me, Miss Garret. I had no intention of…" But he stopped when he noticed the slight grin she was wearing and he looked at her archly. "What?"

"So it's _Miss Garret_ , again, is it?" the woman said, a teasing lilt in her voice as she sauntered past him. "Just a moment ago it was _Hera_ ," and she said her name in a low, sensuous tone.

She was mocking him.

He sent her a hard glare and she held her hands up in defense before he could reprimand her.

"Sorry – I couldn't resist. I just don't see the need for the formality, that's all."

"A habit of mine, I suppose. I normally don't address individuals by their Christian name until a proper acquaintanceship has been formed."

"What? Threatening my life and then ravishing me senseless _twice_ doesn't count?" Hera mused. "Why don't we start over," she offered with a little more sympathy. Hera then curtsied low and a little dramatically towards him. "My name is Hera Garret. And you are?"

Dracula smirked in response to her display before snapping his boots together so his feet were side-by-side. With a sense of regality, he bowed in her direction.

"Count Vladislaus Drăculea," he said in turn.

"A pleasure to finally make your _proper_ acquaintance, Count," she replied, laughter in her eyes. "And if you would be so kind, the next time you decide to lose your sanity on me, be so good as to warn me in advance," and she touched the tender marks he had left on her shoulder and the side of her neck, wincing slightly. "Good Lord, man, if it's a submissive you want, you're going to have to look elsewhere. I've got nothing against kink, but my threshold for pain is rather limited."

Hera noticed a mirror hanging on a nearby wall and she walked over to it to better assess the damage. She never did see Dracula come up behind her, as she momentarily forgot he had no reflection, and he carefully rested his hand on her shoulder before encouraging her to turn to face him.

"Allow me," he said cordially, extending his hand to touch her skin with his finger tips and with a brush of his flesh against hers and some concentration on his part, she was healed.

Dracula noted an expression of genuine gratitude in her gaze and though the glance was full of tenderness, it made him slightly uncomfortable in his boots as that silence between them loitered for a few moments.

But Hera, being who she was, was merciful enough to break it for him.

"So – I do believe you wished to speak to me," she said, bringing them back to the point of his kidnapping her. "Obviously something that you could not say in front of Anna."

"Not so much couldn't as I would prefer not to…"

"Semantics, Dracula. Please be so kind as to get to the point," she interrupted, going to move around him so she wouldn't be pinned between him and the wall. He grabbed her arm, although with less force than before, his grip still halting her progress and their eyes locked.

"I have a proposition for you," he began.

"What kind of proposition?"

"An arrangement of sorts, and should you agree to my terms, I give you my word that the village of Visceria and its current inhabitants will be left untouched and unharmed by myself and my brides."

"I'm listening."

* * *

 **So for my veteran readers - this was another chapter where the smut was toned down dramatically. Not sure how many of you even remember the contents of the original, but if there is anyone out there that does, I'd be curious to hear your thoughts on the changes.**

 **To be honest, I almost cut out the kiss entirely, but chose to keep it in in an effort to highlight the literally unexplainable pull and connection that exists between Hera and Dracula at present. When these two are left alone in a room together, something happens that neither can fully account for - all they know is that those moments of madness feel right and it's bewildering and even a little frightening to each of the parties involved. I try to explore this connection in later chapters, but if you have any thoughts or insights on the subject of their relationship right now, I'd love to hear them! It let's me know if I'm on the right track and proves to be a good gauge as to whether or not I'm doing my job well.**

 **I am truly grateful to all of you for your continued support in the reading, favoriting** (pretty sure that's not a word, but oh well) **, following, and reviewing of this story. I apologize if I sound like a broken record, but I am truly humbled by your wonderful response to this story.**

 **I can't wait to hear your assessments and overall reactions to the latest installment! Will hopefully have chapter 12 ready for you by either Friday or Monday.**

 **Thank you for stopping by and I'll see you in the next chapter!**

 **\- T**


	12. A Tryst in the Stables

**Today's chapter is a wee bit on the shorter side, but what it's setting up for makes me anxious and giddy! So... enjoy!**

* * *

 **XII**

 _ **A Tryst in the Stables**_

Winter refused to loosen its unrelenting grip on the village buried deep in the heart of the Carpathian Mountains. The days and nights were so cold, it could be assumed that Visceria would eventually suffocate under the unrelenting snow that continued to fall week after week, but that was not the case. The town thrived off of the bitter chill and despite the harsh weather, the residents proved to be rather worry-free, something they unknowingly owed to Hera.

Not because she provided them with warmth or food or shelter – no, they did not require the woman's assistance when it came to the primitive aspects of their survival.

Actually, this uncharacteristic ease of the people came from the fact that Count Dracula and his brides had been feeding elsewhere for the last few months, leaving the villagers of Visceria with a rare sense of relief. Despite the oppressive cold, they could breathe and even sleep a little easier. It was like the sun was finally beginning to shine again, as if fate was at last on their sides instead of against them – and it was all thanks to Hera.

The evening Dracula had kidnapped her, the two had spent a good couple of hours hashing out an agreement that would allow Hera to stay with the Valerious family while keeping certain that she remained a neutral party between them and the Count. She was to meet with the vampire at least two evenings of every week in the library of Castle Frankenstein.

Initially, Dracula had hoped that he could use his time with the woman to perhaps seduce her, win her heart and her allegiance. Even with the potent sexual chemistry between them, it quickly became clear to the vampire that this mortal, though attracted to him, was keeping him at arm's length. A part of him was relieved and even a little impressed that her heart appeared to not be so easily touched, yet in the back of his mind, Count Dracula was still concerned that perhaps this emotional distance had something to do with a certain gypsy prince.

He never let on that he was indeed suspicious of Hera's forbidden and well-concealed feelings for Velkan, and though internally frustrated that his enemy had somehow weaseled his way into Hera's affections, the vampire was comforted by the fact that nothing would ever come of those feelings.

Part of the agreement between Hera and himself, in an effort to ensure her neutrality, involved a caveat that should she show favor towards one side over the other – such favor including those of the sexual variety – the treaty between them would be null and void and there would be consequences.

Suspecting that Dracula was a man true to his word, out of fear and a keen sense of self-preservation, Hera strove to uphold her end of the bargain, her feelings be damned.

But if part of their agreement kept her from being with Velkan in any sense of the word, then Dracula was to keep his distance as well. Because of this, the tension between Hera and the Count remained virtually ignored and unexplored, something the latter found extremely disappointing, but he had agreed to her terms in the spirit of fairness and therefore kept his distance, maintaining a sense of cordiality and control whenever she visited, and for that, Hera was grateful.

This unresolved sexual tension aside, it was refreshing for the vampire king – these regular visits with Hera. With each week that passed, he found himself looking forward to seeing her more and more, not just because he had come to enjoy the mortal's company, but because the breadth of her knowledge deeply impressed him.

In most topics, he quickly discovered she was his superior, and it forced him to push himself in ways he hadn't in decades.

She stimulated his mind and it was an exhilarating change of pace. Yet despite the woman's academic genius, he found her to be severely lacking in judgment at times. Though mildly cautious of him, she was otherwise still alarmingly trusting and plucky. Normally, had this been any other woman, he could have used that trust and blossoming friendship to execute the master plan – to seduce and control, to steal her heart. But despite his craftiness and subtlety, still he was kept at distance.

This very fact wounded Dracula's pride in a way he had not anticipated. Even with Velkan's kind, warm demeanor and beating heart, the Count had been convinced of his superiority as a suitor. He was the only person he knew of who could match and in some instances surpass Hera's gifted intelligence. He was more experienced, more powerful, better connected, well-read, and far better suited for the woman than the insipid gypsy prince.

But in his effort to entice the stunning Miss Garret into his arms, even with Velkan's extended absence, Count Dracula had been effectively and inexplicably friend-zoned.

It had been well over three months since Velkan had left with his band of men in hunt of Castle Dracula, and Anna, though she had received word that her brother was alive and well, was still dreadfully worried about him.

It had become a custom for her to check for him, every morning at sunrise and every evening at sunset, in some vain hope that she'd see him riding into Visceria from the mountain pass. But every sunrise and every sunset she was left disappointed once more, and she wasn't the only one who was checking night and day.

Hera, although distracted by her visits with the Count, still found herself longing for the company of Velkan. Notwithstanding her enjoyable evenings with the vampire, Hera rightfully assumed the Count was only using her. Yes, despite her more trusting nature, she wasn't a complete ignoramus. Although she hadn't yet uncovered his grander plans and schemes, it was obvious that his intentions were anything but noble and that made resisting him just a little bit easier.

She genuinely enjoyed her visits with the vampire in the library of Castle Frankenstein, where they'd talk for hours on end, but by comparison, even though Velkan was certainly no scholar, Hera had always assumed that the prince had been eager for her company and attention because he cared deeply for her. This made the mortal prince far more appealing in Hera's eyes than the Count ever could have been.

Velkan's intentions, as far as Hera knew, were honorable and genuine.

Dracula's were purely selfish.

Or were they?

* * *

A pair of dark green eyes scanned over the frozen wonderland that was Visceria, relieved to find that it was still in one piece. Freshly fallen snow blanketed the rooftops of every building, along with the thick mud of the roads as the prince made his way through the town.

He watched with quiet satisfaction as the men who had accompanied him during this futile three-to-four month campaign were reunited with their loved ones. Tears of joy and relief swam down the chilled faces of all as the village rejoiced in the return of the small band that had just arrived home unharmed.

When his men were safe in the arms of their families, Velkan continued on through the streets, eyes transfixed on the Valerious manor, his mind a whirl with anticipation when he remembered that more than just Anna awaited him in that house.

His lips curved into a broad smile as Hera's face appeared in his mind and he dug his heels into the horse's side, urging it to move faster. How he prayed to God that she was all right, that she was still _here_ , that Dracula hadn't taken her away.

The prince was soon in the shadow of the manor where he dismounted, shortly greeted by one of the servants who had come out to welcome him.

"Master Velkan, thank goodness your home!" the manservant proclaimed happily. "Sorina! Go tell Anna the master is home!" he shouted towards the door, but Velkan quickly protested when Sorina hollered "What?" from within the house.

"No," Velkan replied in hushed tones. "Don't tell Anna of my arrival just yet."

The servant gave him a quizzical look.

"Are you certain? She has been most anxious to see you and if she found out that you were home and we hadn't informed…"

Velkan could feel a rush of excitement flood his body as Hera's face continued to swim through his mind.

"Where is Miss Hera?" he interrupted, not caring if Anna pitched a fit because she wasn't the first to know he was home.

"The last I heard, she had gone out riding an hour or two ago. We haven't seen her in the house as of yet, but if she's back, she'd be in the stables."

Velkan grabbed the reins from the servant's hands and steered the horse over in that direction.

"Thank you, Cristian. I'll go fetch her. I'll be in shortly."

"Very good, master," the servant said with a shrug and he returned to the house.

Velkan walked briskly through the deep snow as he led the horse forward, in hopes that he'd run into Hera. The stables were off to the side of the manor, near the courtyard on the left side, farthest from the river.

Making sure the horse travelled in silence was quite the task, but the moment the Valerious heir made it inside the warm stables, he noticed Hera out of the corner of his eye at the far end, leading the horse she had ridden back into his corral. Her moment of distraction gave the prince just enough time to do the same with his own steed before dashing for a hiding place.

Velkan hadn't felt this devious since he was a small boy, although this instance and the intentions were far different from anything he could have comprehended as a child. He watched Hera as she removed the riding gear from the mare before brushing the animal down methodically, whispering soft nothings to the horse in a very calm and loving voice.

The gypsy prince could feel his skin tingling in excitement as he observed her from a safe distance, his fingertips itching to touch those lovely lips and every word that escaped them, his own mouth hungry for hers, his body yearning for her warmth.

Whether it was the length of their separation or some other force at work, Hera had blossomed in his absence, appearing far lovelier than he remembered her looking. The orange marmalade hue of her hair was completely gone. In its place was a mane of beautiful copper auburn locks, falling about her shoulders in lazy waves, the strands catching the light in a way that was almost majestic.

Velkan could hardly contain himself. He wanted to touch her, to hold her, and he'd wait no longer. He stealthily moved from his hiding place and tiptoed across the length of the stables towards the unsuspecting Hera, her back to him.

Heaven help him, he had missed this woman.

Just when she was within reach, he covered her eyes with one hand, wrapping his other arm around her waist so he could hold her against him. The moment he had grabbed her, she had let out a cry of surprise, attempting to struggle against his hold, but when his lips brushed against her ear and whispered "Guess who," she stopped struggling and instead leaned into the breadth of his strong chest as he coiled his remaining arm around her body, holding her closer to him.

"Give me a clue," she answered teasingly, lips curving into that radiant smile of hers, the kind that could melt ice.

Velkan chuckled and held her tighter to him, hardly able to control the male within that had the sudden urge to ravish her. But he managed to bridle his passions, compensating by brushing his lips against her bare throat before kissing behind her ear. His hands then held her upper arms, gently squeezing and rubbing them, earning a submissive sigh of delight from the woman in his grasp.

"Velkan, that better be you," she replied dreamily, leaning into him a bit more now.

"And what if it wasn't, Hera?" he asked her, kissing her neck boldly. He half expected her to pull away from him, but was pleased when she didn't.

"I missed you," she suddenly confessed, turning so she could look at him.

Velkan's soft kisses ceased when he took her chin in his hand, bringing her gaze to his. He hadn't realized how much he had missed those eyes of hers until now. They warmed him down to his toes.

"Did you now?" he asked, a hint of playfulness in his tone, but his regard was intense and full of longing. She touched the side of his unshaven face and he grabbed hold of her hand, pressing the warmth of her palm to his cheek. He then kissed her open hand devotedly before looking back into her eyes.

"More than you know," she whispered, as if in fear that someone would hear her. "When you left all those weeks ago, I thought it was because you were cross with me for acting as though what had happened between us in Castle Frankenstein had never taken place. And then I was so afraid something had happened to you… when you stopped writing to Anna, I…" but he hushed her with the tips of his fingers, a sweet, genuine smile curving his lips as he proceeded to brush a lock of hair from her face.

"I'll admit, I was hurt when you behaved like nothing had happened, though I could understand why you did so. But I did not leave because of you," he explained, caressing her face with the back of two fingers. "Actually, being away from you for so long only helped me realize the extent of my feelings for you, how much I missed seeing your face every morning, hearing your voice, the feel of your skin," and he took her hand, raising it to his lips and Hera watched as he pressed his lips firmly against her knuckles, sending her heart to soar.

"I missed you, Hera… so very, very much," he breathed. "And I'm sorry for leaving you with the impression that I was cross with you."

Relief flooded Hera's system as the concern in her brow relaxed, tears of joy glistening in her eyes. Velkan cupped her face in his hands and rested his forehead against hers, both relishing in the subtle intimacy they were sharing before her fingertips brushed against his bottom lip thoughtfully.

"So much has happened since you left," she whispered, but before she could even begin to inform him, he stopped her train of thought when his mouth gently brushed against hers and he watched in fascination as her tongue moistened her bottom lip in anticipation for what was to come.

"You can tell me later," he breathed before kissing her once again.

The graze of lips was soft, but soon desire took over and the tender, chaste kiss became firm and passionate. Caught up in the violent hunger that had hijacked her brain, Hera's arms wrapped tightly around Velkan's neck as she dove headlong into their kiss.

Overjoyed by her response, the gypsy prince held her a little more firmly, his mouth devouring her as if he were starving, the onslaught taking Hera by surprise and she stumbled back a little with Velkan following suit, unable and most certainly unwilling to let go of that precious mouth that was fastened to his.

Hera's back hit the wall of the stables, her body pinned between it and the very amorous prince who was rapidly becoming more accustomed to her. His hands were now bold and friendly as he tugged and pulled at the sleeves of her tight-fitting blouse, longing to free her shoulders and all that lay down and in between as he showered her neck in ravenous kisses.

Hera ran her hand down Velkan's torso, undoing the chords and buttons of his vest with eagerness, aching to run her hands up and down his hot, muscular flesh, to feel him above her, lying hard between her legs. It had been so long since she had…

Hera's mind paused for a second as the fantasy dissipated, reason soon kicking in.

She wanted _what?_

The promise she had made to the Count came careening to the forefront of her conscious mind as she realized where this passionate interlude was headed and though she wanted it to continue, the warning Dracula had given her would not be silenced, no matter how much she rationalized.

Velkan's mouth was getting very friendly with her neck and although she honestly didn't mind the idea of having sex with him in the stables, she couldn't do it. Even though she was certain Dracula would never know if she did infringe on their agreement, in that moment, with the sun shining and the very real possibility that _anyone_ could spot them, it was just too risky.

But how to stop this from going any further without upsetting Velkan?

An idea popped into Hera's head as if from heaven itself.

"Does Anna know you're home?" she asked breathlessly and she could feel Velkan's response in her skin – a groan of disapproval.

"Damn it…. You're right," he stated in defeat and his kisses slowed to a halt as he rested his forehead against hers. "Cristian probably told her I'm here and she'll be wondering where I've disappeared to."

"Not to mention if you and I stayed out here any longer, she'd grow suspicious," Hera pointed out and the prince nodded in agreement.

"And we wouldn't want that," he remarked playfully.

Hera smiled and hugged him fiercely, burying her face into his chest. Velkan kissed the top of her head affectionately before holding her to him just a little tighter. After standing there in the comforting silence for a good minute or so, she finally pulled out of his hold, taking his hand and leading him towards the stable doors.

"Come, let's go inside before we freeze. Besides, Anna and I have much to tell you," and Velkan followed her most willingly, happier now than he had been in weeks.

He was home and as in love with Hera as ever before.

Little did he know of the disaster that love would create.

* * *

 **Oh dear, what will Dracula say when he finds out the object of his obsession prefers another man? Will Hera be able to resist Velkan's attentions for much longer? Will she keep her promise to the Count? What will happen if she doesn't? Is Velkan sincere in his devotion, or does he have ulterior motives? Have no fear, my lovelies - all shall be revealed in time. ;)**

 **Wanted to thank the exquisite individuals who reviewed the last chapter -** Scarlet Empress **,** Guest **,** jenny **,** the invisible reader **,** She-Devil Red **,** 12345678910 **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** Bloodsired **,** Anonymous Reader **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** niccalexandra51 **(no worries about not signing in! :) It happens. Also - welcome! Glad you're enjoying the story), and the ever-lovely** RegencyPoet **. So happy you all enjoyed chapter 11. It was a challenge to get Hera's humor just right, but I'm so pleased it worked out well.**

 **Thank you for continuing to follow this story! Looking forward to hearing your feedback on the chapter. Until next time!**

 **\- T**

* * *

 **P.S. I posted a one-shot the other day and just in case the readers of that happen upon this - I wanted to send out a thank you the follows, favorites, and especially for the reviews (** bloodyrose2014 **,** Scarlet Empress **,** the invisible reader **,** She-Devil Red **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** the countess **,** RegencyPoet **, and** Aintaru **)!**


	13. In the Arms of a Prince

**Who wants another chapter to kick off the weekend? ;)**

 **I know - three in one week; I must be mad. But I'm doing this for a grander purpose, my dear readers, so enjoy it!**

 **A huge thank you to** the invisible reader **,** Scarlet Empress **,** She-Devil Red **,** Bloodsired **,** 12345678910 **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** RegencyPoet **,** DreamBubbles **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** niccalexandra51 **, and** ShadowSpade **for being such amazing and faithful reviewers! Your feedback remains immensely appreciated and seriously, if I could hug each and every one of you, I most certainly would.**

 **Fair warning for those readers with virgin eyes - there's some lemony bits near the end** (in case the title of the chapter didn't give it away) **. Proceed at your own risk. You've been warned.**

* * *

 **XIII**

 _ **In the Arms of a Prince**_

It had been a good few weeks or so since Velkan's arrival home and the Count had picked up on a very noted change in Hera.

Although her disposition remained very much unaltered, there was a sense of distraction that hadn't been there before. Naturally, this change had occurred shortly after he had received news that Prince Velkan Valerious had returned home and though he had privately hoped he had made enough headway with the mortal woman to at least put a wedge between her and the prince, it would seem the Count's efforts hadn't been nearly as fruitful as he had anticipated.

While she hid her feelings remarkably well, it was evident to the Count that Hera was besotted and as result, he found himself harboring secret feelings of disappointment and resentment.

Dracula could not seem to grasp what it was Hera saw in the gypsy prince, for he was clearly the inferior choice, but he kept all of this to himself, opting to bide his time. So long as Hera did not infringe on their agreement, the king of vampire still had hope of winning the woman over.

But that hope, he'd soon realize, was vain.

One evening in particular – an evening that had been set aside for the Count and Hera to meet – found the Count sitting alone in the library within Castle Frankenstein, awash in his thoughts of Miss Garret and the variety of topics he had hoped to put before her when she arrived.

He glanced outside the tall paned window and noticed the moon shinning high above him in the sky. Dracula let out a quiet grumble of impatience as he started to pace the floor, hardly aware that Verona had just entered the room.

"Master?"

Count Dracula turned and glanced at her, only to nod his head in silent acknowledgement before returning to his pacing.

"Has Miss Garret arrived yet?" he asked.

He ignored the faint hint of disapproval in his eldest bride's expression as he waited for her response. He knew his brides disliked the idea of him spending so much time with the mortal, but only Verona was aware of the supposed motive behind his attentions.

She had never uttered a word against her master's plan, pleased that he trusted her enough to still confide such a secret to her, but it was evident that his supposed purpose did not sit well with her. What was also clear was that despite Dracula's best attempts, Verona had begun to suspect that his intentions when it came to pursuing Hera were becoming far more personal than he'd ever openly admit to.

"No, my lord, she has not," Verona answered.

"She's late," he stated, a hint of vexation in his tone.

"Perhaps she was detained?"

Dracula nodded thoughtfully at Verona's suggestion.

"Yes, perhaps you're right," he replied.

The two turned toward the door as Aleera and Marishka entered the room. The Count, instantly remembering the errand he had sent them on, smiled charmingly at his youngest brides.

"Ah, good evening my darlings. How is our _guest_ faring?"

The women sent each other wicked grins before answering their master's question.

"Boris Valerious is in the dungeons, as requested, my lord," Aleera replied.

"Excellent."

"And we stripped him of all his belongings and left them with Igor to rummage through," Marishka chimed in as she practically danced over to her master, taking his hand in hers and kissing it. "He was very difficult to acquire."

"Yes. Both Marishka and I had to carry him," Aleera added, moving towards the Count, who had pulled Marishka into his arms. She wanted some attention too.

"I am very pleased, my lovelies… my obedient brides," he purred as Marishka kissed and licked his neck while Aleera nuzzled into his chest, and all thoughts of meeting with Hera were soon vanishing from his mind as more carnal considerations ensued.

That is, until he noticed Verona standing alone by the door of the library, a look of quiet disinterest on her face. She had changed so much in the last few months. Though still the most devoted and obedient, her eagerness for his attention and the pleasure he had to offer had diminished greatly, as if she were far more content in solitude than in the company of her master and sisters.

 _Yes._ _Ever since her one-on-one visit with Hera,_ he thought to himself. _Hera…_

The abrupt recollection of how tardy the mortal was brought Dracula's vexation to the foreground again as he unexpectedly removed himself from the attention of his two younger brides, ignoring their shock and displeasure.

"Where is that infernal woman?" he grumbled impatiently, moving toward the exit with his three brides trailing behind him. "It's not like her to be so late. She's usually so punctual. Something must have happened."

"Perhaps she has forgotten her promise?" Marishka offered in hopes of being helpful.

"But that's not like her to forget. There must be a reason," he insisted, marching down the hall towards the stairs. "She wouldn't just _forget_."

"Maybe she'd rather stay with Prince Velkan than come and chat with you," Aleera jeered wickedly.

"Don't be absurd, Aleera. She wouldn't do that. Not when she knows the consequences."

"She's not afraid of you, master, not that you've given her much of a reason to do so. If she had to choose between an evening with the gypsy prince and you, it's clear what her choice would be. Especially since the two have been having little trysts for weeks now."

"Aleera, hold your tongue!" Verona snapped in warning, but it was too late.

Dracula halted abruptly and he turned to face his brides who had all stopped dead in their tracks. Marishka and Verona had looks of anxiety on their faces while Aleera just continued to sneer.

"What did you say?" the Count asked, his voice hushed.

Aleera just grinned, a fake innocence in her expression.

"Oops! Did _I_ say that out loud? Oh, silly me…"

Verona went rigid with fury, barely able to keep control over herself. How tempting it was to smash that jealous redhead's face into the wall right now.

"Aleera, you were not to say a word!" Marishka insisted.

"What? I didn't mean to do it…" she replied deviously. "It just _slipped_ out."

Verona faced the redhead, a very dangerous look in her now glowing eyes.

"You abhorrent woman, when will you learn to keep your mouth shut?!" she practically shrieked.

"Unlike _you,_ Verona, I don't believe in keeping secrets from the master," Aleera replied snobbishly.

Verona tried to avoid her master's gaze, but she could not.

His eyes asked her if it was true and her silence was all the answer he needed.

Aleera moved over to the Count and placed her hand on his shoulder, the other over his chest as she leaned in.

"You want to know where that insignificant little mortal is?" she purred as the treachery that escaped her lips poured into his ears. She grinned toothily at her counterparts who stared at her with evident fear. "Just a few days ago, while the three of us had gone out to feed, we saw Prince Velkan… and Miss Garret… alone in the outskirts of the village…" she began.

She fiddled with the gold hoop that pierced the Count's right ear as she continued to relate the tale.

"You should have seen them master," Aleera hummed. "He couldn't keep his hands off of her; and she let him. She let him touch her, let him kiss her."

"But they didn't lie together," Verona quickly tacked on in some vain hope of undoing at least part of the mess Aleera was creating, but it was pointless.

"That is true, but Velkan Valerious has been most persistent. Maybe, just maybe, that's why she isn't here tonight, master. Perhaps the prince has stolen her loyalties right from underneath your nose."

The fury in Dracula's eyes was a horrific thing to behold, but what caused a chill to run down Verona's dead spine was how calm he appeared as the youngest bride spoke.

"Verona did not wish for us to tell you," the redhead added and his icy gaze shot towards his supposedly most devoted bride. "Said we should keep it a secret."

Verona snapped.

"That was _your_ idea!" she shrieked angrily. "You said we should keep it from the master because you wanted him all to yourself!"

Aleera hissed venomously at the dark-haired beauty as she continued to hang onto Dracula's arm while he listened to the two of them.

"That's a lie! I would never suggest such a thing!" she insisted. "Master, Verona would mislead you. She talked Marishka into keeping it a secret as well. I wanted to tell you sooner but she threatened me!"

Verona was about ready to lose it. She took a dangerous step forward and growled, fangs barred, face marred with a monstrous expression as her jaw lengthened slightly to make room for the rows of razor teeth.

"I never threatened you once," she growled, her voice demonic and deep and Aleera cowered behind her master who watched them with an unreadable expression. "But don't think that this treachery won't go unpunished!" and she advanced to strike.

She had grown tired of the ginger and she wanted to sink her fangs into that pretty neck and then tear her head clean off.

"You will not lay a finger on her!" Dracula suddenly said, the words pouring out like glacial ice.

He had heard enough of their bickering and decided to put an end to it. In the past, such a tone would have been enough to silence even the most heated of disputes between his brides, but Verona was beside herself.

"She has deceived you!" she insisted, growling at him.

The anger and betrayal of four centuries finally boiled to the surface as this new sense of boldness clouded Verona's judgment and she blatantly defied her master for the first time… _ever_.

"That insipid whore that you call bride has whispered nothing but lies into your ears for the past hundred years and I will not stand by and watch it any longer!" Verona shouted. "You have no proof that the mortal has broken her covenant with you, and even if she had, why should you care? She should mean _nothing_ to you! You should have killed her when you had the chance! But no! You weren't man enough to do it, just because she is the first woman who has ever refused you!"

" _SILENCE!_ "

Dracula's enraged bark hushed the woman immediately as the sheer power of his voice sent a violent tremor through the hall, forcing Verona to her knees in instant submission, shuddering somewhat as she realized how furious she had made him. His irises were glowing in blue fire, his face distorted in demonic rage as his fangs extended and nails sharpened into dangerous talons that could easily tear her asunder in mere seconds.

In Verona's four-hundred years of existence, she had never seen him so vexed, incensed to the point of near madness. He looked like he was ready to strike her and she braced herself for the physical assault, but he remained rooted to the floor, towering over her like a dark, ominous shadow that threatened to swallow her whole.

The Count was visibly trembling as he struggled to rein himself in as Aleera seemed to be regretting everything she had just said as she watched the tears flood down her sister's ashen cheeks whilst she elegantly attempted to regain her composure.

The eldest bride was a cocktail of conflicting emotions - terror, anger, and absolute despair.

Verona had never been the target of such unbridled anger in her life, especially where her master was concerned, and she did not care for the sensation. As much as she despised the situation, she, in that instant, cared more about her own sense of self-preservation and comfort than she did anything else - her pride and sense of dignity be damned, especially where Hera was concerned. She may have been growing a little fond of the impertinent human, but being thus offered her no real benefit outside of this inconvenient disillusionment.

Oh, how she missed those days of blissful ignorance.

Dracula's stare was pure malevolence as he watched his cowering bride, refusing to meet his gaze, scared and humbled into submission at his feet. He bent down and took her by the arm, hoisting her up to her feet so she would be forced to face him.

"You have said _quite_ enough, madam," Dracula said at last in rigidly contained tones. "I have borne your growing insolence over the last few months with equanimity, but if you ever, _ever_ speak to me in such a way again, you _will_ feel the extent of my wrath. Do I make myself clear?"

Although struggling to suppress her tears, she nodded timidly.

"Yes, master," she whispered. "Forgive me for my impertinence."

"Very good," came his response after a deliberate exhale.

He then released her arm and offered his hand to her and she took it with her quivering, hesitant hands and kissed his knuckles reverently, bathing them in her tears. Determined to banish her present fear of him, he allowed the hard creases in his brow to soften as he very tenderly took her chin in his hand.

"No more of this defiance, my pet; do you understand?" he said with an eerie sense of sweetness.

She nodded like an admonished child, submissive and afraid.

"Yes, my lord," she said softly.

"Go to the dungeons and get a bite to eat my dear. You look famished," he encouraged, and she obeyed, not wishing to kindle his anger towards her once more. "Marishka, go with her," he ordered softly.

The young bride nodded and quickly hurried towards Verona's side, following her down the stairs. At last, Dracula turned and looked at Aleera who was petrified and guilty beyond reason.

"Master, I…" she began, but his expression silenced her.

"You have said quite enough, Aleera," he whispered, watching as she pressed her lips into a thin line. "For the sake of us all, I hope what you have just revealed was nothing more than your usual pettiness…" and with that, he shifted into his beast form and took off through a window and into the night.

Aleera watched as her master flew towards Visceria, knowing all too well that what he would find there would only worsen his mood.

* * *

Hera giggled incessantly as Velkan carried her on his back up towards the tower where the family archives were kept.

"Velkan, I _can_ walk, despite what you may think," she teased. "Let me get down. I'm going to break your back."

"Hera, you're really not that heavy and we're almost there," he insisted. "See, the door is up ahead."

She finally managed to slide off of him, standing at his side as they both looking up at the door.

"I bet I'm faster than you are," she challenged and the gypsy prince laughed.

"Oh really? First person to the door wins."

"And what does the loser have to give the winner?"

Velkan sent her a husky look.

"A kiss."

The young woman chuckled wickedly as they took their racing stance.

"And be quiet about it, Hera. You don't want to wake up Anna, do you?"

"Velkan, you and I both know that Anna can sleep through just about anything," she began, but stopped when she noticed Velkan racing up the stairs.

She shouted something obscene as she ran after him, leaping forward and seizing his ankle, causing him to fall onto the stairs, giving her the chance to climb over him so she could reach the door before he could.

Velkan was laughing too hard to even stop her, but he did manage to grab her by the waist just as she reached the door knob and the two collapsed into the room, laughing hysterically. Velkan shut and locked the door behind him before closing in on Hera in a playfully predator-vs.-prey kind of manner and she hid behind the sofa in front of the roaring fireplace.

"Come now Hera, don't you want your kiss? You did win…" he mocked, but she just laughed.

"I'm not giving into you _that_ easily," she exclaimed as the two of them circled the sofa. "Besides, you'll have to catch me first."

The look in the gypsy prince's eyes made Hera blush wildly.

"Very well… if you insist," he replied and he suddenly dove to the other side of the sofa, grabbing hold of Hera's wrist before she could escape, pulling her down onto the couch and consequently on top of him. "Hera! You're so forward. Whatever will Anna say?" he teased and she laughed, placing her hand on his chest in order to lift herself up and off of him, but he held her steadfast.

"Oh, please! You pulled me on top of you."

A devious grin curved Velkan's lips.

"Do you want your reward or not?" he asked.

The question put an end to her struggle as she sent him a devious look, one hand still beside his head, the other on his chest. Hera bent down and licked his mouth teasingly, giving him the answer he wanted.

"Of course I want it…" the woman breathed sensually and he lifted his head up slightly so he could fasten his lips to hers and then pull her down, his hand shifting through her hair as he pressed his mouth firmly against hers.

Her lips slid over his with wondrous sensuality and the prince's skin began to heat up. He gently cupped her face and pulled her head closer as her tongue invaded his mouth, her knees straddling his body, inciting a powerful urge within the prince to meld with her, to literally lose himself in her.

He had only made love a few times and it was usually with a paid woman whenever he visited Budapest or the barmaid in the neighboring village, thanks to the bad influence of several of his friends, although it had been some time since last he had done so.

But being with Hera was the most natural thing in the world to him, which is why he found it so easy to unlace the bodice over her blouse as they kissed, removing the article of clothing from her body before he sat up with her still on top of him only to gently push her down beneath him, kissing her with more purpose. Hera melted beneath the gypsy prince, hardly aware of what either of them were doing.

Before she could stop herself, she had discarded his vest and was now lifting up his shirt, pulling it over his head and splaying her hands over his chest and shoulders before pulling him down for another kiss. The heat of their own passions alongside the heat of the fire within the hearth beside them seemed to increase the temperature of their bodies to the point where they were aching to get out of their clothes.

Hera's head rested on the armrest of the sofa while Velkan worshipped her neck, both of them completely unaware that a pair of eyes were watching them closely from outside the window, invisible to their senses, simply because it was willed.

Dracula watched attentively as the gypsy prince laid on top of the woman, showering her with kiss after passionate kiss. However, the lovers were briefly interrupted by the sound of the hour and Hera's eyes widened in shock when she realized what time it was, pushing the prince and his passionate lips away from her, suddenly panicked.

"Oh crap!" she exclaimed. "I forgot!"

Velkan looked at her, concerned.

"What is it?"

"Oh my God, how did I lose track of the time?" she said, flustered, and she sat up with Velkan on top of her still.

"Hera, what's going on?"

"I was supposed to meet with the Count over an hour ago! Oh, God, if he finds out…" and she tried to get off the sofa, but Velkan remained on top of her, keeping her in place.

"Hera, I don't like the idea of you spending an entire evening twice a week with that monster," the prince suddenly voiced.

He was the only one who knew about her weekly visits to Castle Frankenstein and the reasoning behind it. And truth be told, he hated the idea.

Jealousy, mingled with his own insecurities generated that hate. He wanted to trust Hera when it came to Count Dracula, but he could not – not when that vampire was involved.

"But I don't have any choice," she insisted. "I gave him my word, Velkan. Can you imagine what he'd do if he found out if I had broken my promise? Your people have enjoyed over three months of undisturbed peace because of my arrangement with Count Dracula. You and Anna are safe, so long as I continue to meet his terms. I can't go back on my word, Velkan, as much as I may want to. If I did…"

She couldn't even finish the thought.

Velkan sighed her name as he took her face in his hands, kissing her brow.

"Hera, the only reason why Dracula doesn't want you and I together is because he wants you for himself," Velkan said. "You mean nothing to him outside of being a potentially valuable asset to the war, but that's it."

"He wants to make sure I stay neutral, Velkan. I'm not sure I could do that if we…"

"Count Dracula is a heartless monster, Hera. You owe him nothing."

Dracula, who still lingered in the shadows near one of the smaller windows, glared venomously in the direction of the prince. The vampire could see the indecisiveness in Hera's eyes. She knew there would be consequences if she went back on her word, and though she did not fully understand the extent of how much danger she was about to put herself in, a small part of her suspected and it made her unsure.

What would Dracula do if he found out that she was dangerously on the verge of being in love with his enemy, if her heart was already swaying towards one side over another, instead of remaining neutral as she had promised? The idea made a shiver run down her spine.

"Velkan, I can't run the risk of him finding out about us, about _anyone_ finding out about us. I should go…" she insisted, and she tried once more to get off the sofa, but the prince held her arms, forcing her to stay put.

"Stay with me, Hera", he urged her. "Stay with me tonight."

She looked up into his eyes, knowing all too well what he wanted from her, and truth be told, she wanted to give it to him. But her conscience was eating away at her insides.

"I can't…" but he placed his fingers over her lips, hushing her.

"Dracula doesn't need to know. Just say you couldn't get away. How could he _not_ believe you?" and he kissed the corner of her mouth softly.

Hera gently ran her fingers through his hair lightly as she held his face in her hands, looking deep into his eyes, her expression dreamy and sensuous.

"Velkan…" she tried again, though this time half-heartedly and her protest was stopped when his lips pressed against hers, hushing her and her conscience.

The prince gradually eased Hera back down onto the sofa, showering her face and neck with kisses as he finished undressing her and then himself. And with her arms reaching out for him, he nestled himself into her warmth.

"I love you, Hera," he whispered into her hair after entering her, and then he moved his hips against her, slow and steady, relishing in the delicious friction of their bodies – that addicting push and pull.

Hera never did go to Castle Frankenstein to meet with the Count that night. Instead, she stayed with Velkan, the two of them moving to the rhythm the prince created until they ended up on the floor, leaving him drinking in the sight of her flesh and the pleasure in her eyes as she rode him, head back and breasts in her lover's hands.

Although the Count could not see the act completely, due to the fact many of the objects in the room obstructed them from his view, what he did witness was Hera's face during the entire duration of the evening: the bliss, the unsurmountable pleasure, the way her mouth seemed to sensuously bite at the air when the prince touched her in just the right way.

The vampire couldn't seem to tear himself from the scene, torn between fascination at the beautiful sounds that came from the woman whenever she neared the peak of her sexual gratification, and a violent envy that coursed through his veins like liquid fire.

Oh, how he secretly wished it was he making love to that exquisite creature moaning on the floor. Never in his life had Dracula ever hated Velkan so much. He had not experienced pure loathing and jealousy this strong in an age, and as he watched the two lovers sleep in each other's arms up in the archives for the remainder of the evening, that poison continued to pollute his system.

Oh, he'd have his revenge.

He would not be defied.

He would not be defeated.

Velkan may have won the battle tonight, but in a moment of sheer madness, Dracula swore to himself that he would win the war, and he'd do so by any means necessary.

* * *

 **Oh dear.** **Hera Garret, my sweet summer child, what have you done now? You've awakened the beast! Dracula isn't going to play fair now. This is what happens when you get romantically involved with a Valerious. Everything goes to hell shortly thereafter. And I get that Velkan has fabulous legs, but come on... seriously girl!**

 **Well my lovely readers, I hope you enjoyed the latest installment. Chapter 14** (which I'm OBSCENELY excited for) **will be posted on Monday morning, PST, so enjoy your weekend and I'll see you then.**

 **And please don't forget to REVIEW! Your feedback means the world to me and it's seriously the only reason why the muse is even sticking around these days.**

 **-T**

* * *

 **REVAMP NOTES - _Here's what changed..._**

 **In the original, Dracula actually smacks Verona when she defies him. That got removed because physical abuse is not sexy or excusable. Even if it's fiction. Period.**

 **Some people can't tell the difference between fiction and reality on a subconscious level and because I don't ever want to be accused of promoting that sort of thing, I took it out. Is Verona's fear of him any better? Maybe not, but my defense is that the shouting outbursts and consoling afterwards was in the movie, so hey! At least he's still in character ;)**


	14. Repercussions

**Greetings my darling readers!** *HUGS* **I hope you all had a wonderful weekend.**

 **Thank you to** alexc1209 **,** the invisible reader **,** Bloodsired **,** She-Devil Red **,** Madam Silver **,** Scarlet Empress **,** Countess **,** 12345678910 **,** niccalexandra51 **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** RegencyPoet **,** jenny **,** Lyn Harkeran **,** ShadowSpade **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** HouseofWolves06 **,** DreamBubbles **, and** Guest **for reviewing over the last few days! I truly adore all of you for the glorious feedback and encouragement you are constantly showering me with, not to mention your consistency and just overall sense of devotion to this tale. You guys are the reason this story ever got revamped and republished in the first place.**

 **Now, for my veteran readers, this chapter is BRAND NEW, completely rewritten. Details of the changes are at the end of the chapter, in case you're curious or need a refresher. **

**ENJOY!**

* * *

 **XIV**

 _ **Repercussions**_

The next few days were a whirl of conflicting emotions for Hera.

Though she and Velkan were clearly enamored with each other, the secrecy surrounding their relationship was slowly eating away at her. On the one side, it felt so validating, having the love of a prince. Velkan was gentle, attentive, and kind; to be the center of another person's world was something new for the young woman and she found she loved the feeling very much. She felt wanted, desired, and safe in his arms.

On the other hand, however, there was an underlying fear that Hera could not shake.

Her most immediate concern was Anna.

Velkan's sister was still blissfully unaware of the newfound intimacy between her brother and the young woman from the future, and if she ever did find out, Hera was convinced that the gypsy princess would not only be upset, but that she'd probably try to kick Hera out of the house for seducing her father's heir when he was already promised to another.

Despite some of the Valerious family's more modern sensibilities, there were some lines that should never be crossed – and despite the fact that she was not the only one to blame, Hera still felt the weight of her violation.

The other worry, however, was the one that woke her up in the late hours of the night when the rest of the world was fast asleep.

She had broken her promise to Dracula, and what was worse was the paranoid suspicion that he somehow knew. As her next appointed meeting with the vampire approached, Hera's anxiety increased. She did her best to keep her fears to herself, not wishing to alarm anyone, but it was a heavy burden to bear.

Velkan didn't seem the least bit troubled the day of the meeting, despite Hera's evident distress. As far as the young prince was concerned, there was no way in heaven or earth that the vampire king knew their secret and so long as Hera didn't give herself away, the two of them could continue on in their passions and Dracula would remain the ignorant party.

Although Hera appreciated Velkan's faith in her acting abilities, she knew better than to so grossly underestimate the Count, which was why when she made the long trek up to Castle Frankenstein a few evenings later, she made certain to arm herself – even if doing so was futile, she felt safer with the silver-plated dagger strapped to her hip.

The hike up the side of the mountain went by much quicker than usual – undoubtedly because the young woman's mind was in such turmoil, she couldn't even think about how her legs ached as she climbed the steep and winding path through the woods.

As she walked, Hera tried to rationalize her previous actions in an attempt to assuage her guilt. Yes, she had gone back on her word to Dracula who had only included that stipulation in their agreement because he wanted to ensure her neutrality, but did her sexual familiarity with the prince really affect her standing in the middle of this war? When it came down to it, would she choose to help the Valerious siblings over Dracula because her actions had created a level of fidelity for Velkan?

Hera wanted to deny it, but she could not.

As much as she tried to justify her tryst with the young man, she could not ignore the sense of loyalty she now felt toward him. Casual sex had never been in Hera's nature. When she gave herself to someone, it was never by halves – which would explain why she had been hurt so many times in the past. She was so eager for love and affection, she never stopped to really consider the consequences, not to mention the worthiness of the men she yielded to.

Dracula must have seen that in her, she considered quietly as she entered the courtyard of Castle Frankenstein. As much as she hated to admit it, perhaps the vampire understood her better than she understood herself.

 _What a terrifying thought_ , she mused as she knocked on the front door just as the sun slipped behind the peaks of the mountains.

When the rays of light vanished, she was immersed in the shadow of the towering fortress before her and for the briefest of instances, she considered turning back. But when Igor dutifully answered the door, Hera quickly gathered what resolve she could muster before managing a polite smile.

"Good evening, Igor."

"Miss Garret. My master is expecting you," and he stepped out of the way so she could enter.

Igor in real life, up close and personal, was a bit more than what Hera had originally anticipated. Although an obedient and willing servant of Dracula, he was surprisingly snarky, his little utterances of rebellion amusing, though completely harmless. He was, however, quite sad to behold – deformed and in dire need of some cleaner clothes, a bath, and a maybe even a new set of teeth.

But his manners were improving, thanks to the Count's so-called "encouragement", and Hera smirked briefly at the suggestion before the thought of the vampire sent her stomach into terrible knots of anxiety again.

"Is he up in the library?" Hera inquired, handing Igor her coat after he offered to take it.

"Yes."

"And your mistresses?"

"They are out feeding this evening, so you and the master will remain undisturbed, as is his wish."

This piece of news made her a little uneasy.

Dracula wanted her alone, did he? That certainly wasn't a good sign.

"I'll show myself up, then," Hera announced and when Igor slinked out of the way, she began to ascend the stairs.

The hall leading to Victor Frankenstein's library appeared much darker and longer than usual and try as she might, Hera's heart was beginning to race – and not in excitement.

The Count really was waiting for her.

She could feel his presence from here – overpowering and heavy. How she hoped and prayed as she made her way down the hall that he had either forgotten about her absence last week or that at the very least he was ignorant as to why.

Hera stood in front of the double doors that led into the room for a moment or two as she collected herself, taking in a few deep breaths to repress the slight nausea before proceeding inside.

Although she could not see him, Hera was confident that Dracula was within.

Usually, the room was well lit, but the only source of light in the chamber this evening was the blaze in the hearth. The fire was enormous, flames devouring monstrous pieces of smoldering wood while licking the blackened stone on its sides. Despite the glowing fury, the room was frigid, shadows of the mountainous bookshelves slithering across the floor. The aisles which Hera had come to know so well seemed foreign to her suddenly, like walls of an ominous hedge maze which if entered would swallow her whole.

Hera had never been afraid of a library before, but in that moment, the last thing she wanted to do was linger this room.

This was Dracula's domain, and should she pass into his arena, she wasn't certain she'd make it out again.

"Are you going to stand out in the hall all evening, Miss Garret, or do you require someone to carry you over the threshold?" came the Count's voice from somewhere within the room.

Hera did not reply to the baited query, but she did finally step into the room. Eager for some comfort in this precarious situation, she made her way over to the fire, straining to keep from jumping in surprise when the library doors shut of their own volition behind her, sealing her in.

There was usually more furniture near the hearth – a couple of sofas, a chaise lounge, and a few high-backed arm chairs. But this evening, there was only one available seat – an Asher leather chair, facing the fire with its back toward the shadows. When Hera went to reposition it, the Count's voice called out from the darkness again.

"Leave it as it is, Miss Garret, and have a seat, please."

Although she longed to defy him, Hera reluctantly obeyed his request.

She didn't have to look to know he was standing somewhere behind her. She could feel him there, watching.

He must have known the truth, she thought nervously to herself, the tension in the air steadily thickening. It was the only explanation for this set-up. Dracula was trying to intimidate her, and as much as Hera hated to admit it, it was working. She touched the dagger at her hip with cautious fingers before emitting a quiet sigh of relief. Although logically she understood that the weapon would not save her should things grow violent, Hera felt better knowing she could defend herself. This awareness gave her what she needed to find her courage – as slight as it was.

"I miss one meeting and already you're indulging in theatrics. Is this setup entirely necessary?" she inquired bravely. "I feel like I'm in the middle of the Spanish Inquisition or something."

Hera attempted to sound lighthearted and unaffected by his attempt to disconcert her, but it was fruitless. Despite her indifferent demeanor, Count Dracula could still hear the racing of her heart, and for the first time in their acquaintanceship, it was out of pure, unadulterated fear.

"If this were the Spanish Inquisition, Miss Garret, you would be in the dungeons, stripped down and either tied to a rack or hung from the ceiling by your wrists where you'd then receive a series of lashings. Although an effective mode of extracting information, I find this approach to be far more sufficient… and less messy. But if you'd prefer bondage and torture instead of a civilized discussion, I'd be willing to oblige you."

"I'll stay here, thank you," she said. Although the tiniest part of her wondered if he'd have the nerve to do such a thing to her, the mere suggestion of being beaten and mutilated by the infamous Vlad the Impaler sent her shuddering. _No thank you_ , she thought to herself.

"Here's what's going to happen, Miss Garret. I am going to ask you a series of questions and you will answer each one truthfully."

"And should I choose not to answer a question?"

"There will be consequences," was all he said, still somewhere behind her in the shadows. She could feel him pacing slowly behind her, though his footfall made no noise against the hardwood floor.

"What kind of consequences?"

"Trust me when I say that you are better off giving me what I want."

"Do you promise not to hurt me?" she couldn't help but ask.

Although she could not see him, Dracula smiled darkly at her query.

"I swear not to lay a single malicious finger on your person. Will that suffice?"

"I suppose, though I feel I don't have much of a say in this anyway."

The Count said nothing on that score and proceeded with his inquest.

"Do you recall the particulars of our arrangement, Miss Garret?"

"Yes. Shall I recite them for you?" she asked with just a hint of vinegar.

"That won't be necessary," the vampire answered evenly. "But you recall, it was agreed that we'd meet twice a week at a previously designated place and time?"

"Yes."

"Then if you understand this, where, may I ask, were you the night of our last meeting?"

Hera's hands, which had been resting on the arms of the chair, were now folded in her lap, the fingers of her left hand brushing against the hilt of the concealed weapon at her side, as though she were seeking comfort from its presence.

"I was detained," she answered after much deliberation. She could feel Dracula moving just a little bit closer to her, his presence oppressive, the levelness of his tone unnerving.

"Detained," he repeated with hinted mirth.

 _Oh God, he knows_ , Hera thought hopelessly, closing her eyes as she braced herself for the storm she was certain was coming now.

"Would you be so kind as to divulge what, or more precisely, who it was that detained you?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Answer the question, Miss Garret," the Count demanded icily and she jumped in surprise when she realized just how close he was to her.

"Velkan. I was with Velkan."

"And what were you doing with the little prince that was so important as to make you forget your obligation to me?"

"I…" the young woman began, but she stammered, realizing that once the truth was spoken, it was all over. "It's nothing you need to concern yourself with," Hera managed. "I'm here now. Isn't that all that matters?"

At long last, Dracula finally stepped into her line of sight, dressed in what he usually wore, yet there was something different about his appearance this evening. Though on the surface he was the picture of calm indifference, Hera could see behind the façade that he was seriously displeased with her. There was a darkening expression in his eyes, a noted degree of disappointment and – though perhaps she had imagined it – even a hint of jealousy.

It became very evident to Hera that her moment – or rather, _moments_ – of weakness with Velkan were a mistake she would regret in more ways than she could possibly imagine at present. She had betrayed the trust of the wrong man and given his reputation, she was amazed that he was even permitting her to breathe.

"Let's try this one more time," Dracula said as he approached, positioning his hands on the armrests of the chair before leaning in so his face was level with hers. "What did you do?"

Hera swallowed hard as she tried to sink into the chair and away from the Count's increasing proximity, but there was no escape. He had her precisely where he wanted her – cornered and at his mercy.

"I…" she began, but she couldn't seem to get the words out.

"Answer the question," he commanded, voice low and unnervingly even.

"I… we… I slept with him."

"You slept with him," he repeated, not in questioning, but just so the truth could hang in the air like the damning piece of evidence it was. "Forgive me, I must be fuzzy on the details, but didn't we agree that in an effort to ensure your neutrality, you were to refrain from having such an intimate relationship with his grace, or maybe I had imagined that?"

"No, that was part of the agreement," she affirmed guiltily, unable to hold his scrutinizing gaze any longer and her eyes fell to her hands.

"Look at me when you speak to me, madam, or I shall use force."

The young woman's eyes shot back up and to her chagrin, he could now see the tears beginning to gather near her lower lash line, and he appeared unmoved by them.

Hera had never been more afraid of a single person in her entire life. It would have been easier had he yelled at her or thrown a tantrum. At least she knew how to deal with people like that. But this, with his thinly veiled anger and the oppressive sense of control he had over the situation – it was unbearable.

Although admittedly it wasn't Dracula himself that Hera was frightened of – it was what he was capable of doing to her that sent a chill down her spine.

"Would you care to explain to me why you chose to go back on your word? Or is your generation completely devoid of honor and integrity?"

Hera visibly cringed at the insult. Her knee-jerk reaction was to strike back, but fear had effectively muted the protestations of her wounded pride.

"I wanted to be with him," she answered timidly, her voice barely a whisper, though she knew he could hear her. "I… I love him."

Dracula felt something sink inside of him.

Her confession rang in his ears and tore away at his carefully constructed mask of indifference. He could not explain why, but from the very beginning, he had felt drawn to this woman and the very idea of her being with another, let alone Velkan Valerious, made his stomach turn.

How could she settle for someone so far beneath her?

How could she not see her worth, understand her value?

How could a woman as intelligent as she think that what she felt for that infernal gypsy prince was love?

Count Dracula had waited centuries for a woman of this caliber to walk into his life and after months of patience and ignoring the obvious pull between them, this woman, this _child_ had the audacity to refuse him and instead run into the arms of some stupid, inexperienced _boy_!

It was enough to boggle the mind and boil the blood and it left him wanting to shake her.

His hands, which had been holding the armrests on either side of her, gripped the handsome material in an obvious attempt at controlling his temper. Hera could hear the squeaking of flesh against leather and it made her all the more uneasy.

Instead of glowering in response to her answer, Dracula barked a laugh in her face.

"You love him?" the vampire proclaimed. "Oh you foolish girl, what do you know of love?"

"I know more than a monster like you ever could," she snapped, not taking kindly to being mocked, but that was clearly a mistake on her part. The Count grabbed her by the arm and hauled her out of the seat so she was standing now.

"Are you sure about that?" he hissed dangerously. "I have lived for over four-hundred years, Miss Garret. Though I may not be in love, I can recognize it when I see it and you, madam… what you feel for Prince Velkan Valerious is _not_ love."

"Don't pretend to know what I do and don't feel, Count!" Hera exclaimed, struggling against his hold, but she could not escape him.

"Oh I don't have to pretend," he said. "I can see your doubts… right there in your mind."

Hera suddenly became aware of a strangely heavy sensation in her head, as though her skull was being compressed to the point that she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She had experienced the vampire shuffling about in her brain before, but this was different. It was as though he had somehow gotten his foot in a door when she wasn't looking and now she was desperately struggling to close it on him, but she was no match for his weight.

She could feel him just as she could feel his grip on her arm, his more powerful mind flooding her conscious and subconscious, sifting ruthlessly through her thoughts, perceptions, and memories and the harder she tried to push him out, the more her head ached.

"If Velkan really loved you, do you actually think he would have let you come here alone?" Dracula taunted as he took every pleasant memory Hera had of the prince and unveiled each one, revealing ignored truths and tainting her perceptions. "He knew of our agreement, and still he persisted. Did he really think I wouldn't know? You knew in the back of your mind when you were with him that night that I would find out. Was he worth it? Was he?"

"Get out of my head!"

"Did it ever occur to you that your safety truly means nothing to him? He doesn't love or appreciate you! How can he love someone that makes him feel so inferior?"

"That's not true!"

"You were just another obstacle in the way of his ego that needed conquering."

"Stop it!"

"The means of achieving his own pleasure."

"No!"

"He only took you because he wanted to have you first, because as a man he understood that the most effective means of obtaining your loyalty was by weaseling himself into your feeble and easily swayed heart."

"Please…"

"Enough struggling!"

Hera was suddenly paralyzed.

Completely still.

Immobile.

The tears that had been trailing down her cheeks stopped as she stared almost blankly into Count Dracula's glowing eyes. She could still sense him there, in her mind, but she was unable to struggle. He had flooded her out and now it was as though she were a tiny spec in the middle of a vast sea, the surface of the water as still as glass.

She realized then when he released her arm and continued to hold her gaze that her body and much of her mind were no longer her own.

The man before her was in control now.

She felt simply what she was allowed to feel. The suggestion of each sense was his and right now, she felt nothing. Hollow. Her mind was no more hers than the very universe was… and the thought should have disturbed her.

But it didn't… because he didn't want it to.

Dracula could hear the buzzing queries in the corner of her conscious mind and he answered her as he located the small, ineffectual blade still strapped to her waist, removing it from its sheath.

"Have no fear, Miss Garret, I will not harm you. Though you should understand, for the time being, your will is mine now. Should I wish you to feel pain, you will be obliged to feel it terribly. Should I wish you to fear me, you will cower at my feet."

The Count examined the blade with muted interest before lightly resting the tip between her breasts in the direction of her heart.

Hera became aware of a swell of terror tightening in her chest for just the briefest of moments before that empty hollow sensation returned like a fresh canvas for him to paint on. Dracula then ran the tip of the blade down her front slowly, very lightly as to not spoil her clothing, but enough for her to notice it.

"I warned you, Miss Garret, that I was not a man to be trifled with," he said, hovering the small weapon over her stomach as though he were contemplating the prospect of gutting her. "Usually when I am crossed, my revenge is swift and sure," and he applied a little more firmly the pressure of the blade so she could feel its tip against her abdomen.

A single tear ran down her cheek.

With reflexes like lightning, he tossed the blade across the room where it impaled a large black spider that had been crawling up the wall, the action causing her heart to skip a beat.

"Fortunately for you, your usefulness has not yet expired," and with a wave of his hand, though she was still unable to move, she had control over her tongue again.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked him and his expression became rather Machiavellian as he started to circle her, his scrutiny making her uncomfortable.

"I haven't quite decided yet," he answered truthfully. "But I think it's safe to say we certainly need to level the playing field a bit, wouldn't you agree?"

Hera didn't particularly care for the implication of his comments and though she would not deny that the man was certainly beautiful, in that moment he was the _last_ person on earth she wanted to share a bed with.

"You can toy about with my head all you want, but I will never submit willingly to you."

Dracula chuckled darkly.

"Still determined to think the worst of me? Well, we'll have to work on that," and he patted her cheek in a patronizing manner. "No, what I have in mind for you, Miss Garret, requires trust, and I think you'll agree when I say that at the present moment, neither of us trusts the other. But one thing is definitely certain – I do believe we need to reevaluate your current living arrangements. We can't have you falling prey to Prince Velkan again, now can we?" he mused.

"Then where do you propose I sleep, _your highness_?" Hera bit. "Outside in the snow?"

Dracula's eyes narrowed somewhat.

"If you keep up with that disagreeable attitude of yours, I'm sure I can come up with something far worse."

"Why are you treating me like this?" she suddenly asked. "Why do you insist on treating everyone like they're beneath you? Just because you're a vampire doesn't make you God."

"My sweet, naïve little spitfire," the Count sighed apathetically. "Didn't you know? In these mountains… I _am_ God."

"No you're not. And even if you somehow were, that's no excuse. Why are you like this? I refuse to believe you came out of your mother's womb a tyrant, so what is it? Was it a woman?"

She had meant the question to be taken as the sarcasm it was, but when all humor drained from the Count's eyes, for the briefest of moments, Hera regretted her question. Clearly she had struck a nerve, or at least unsurfaced a long-suppressed memory that left him quiet and unsettled for a very long minute. He looked so far away in that instance and Hera waited expectantly for his answer.

 _This better be good_ , she thought numbly.

"Her name was Ilona," he said, his voice a nearly inaudible whisper. "And that's all you need ever know."

Before Hera could counter him with a rebuff and more questions, he extended his hand and touched her brow with two of his fingers, the contact sending what felt like a bolt of electricity through her body before her knees gave out and she fell to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

Verona entered the library later that evening to find her master seated in the leather chair in front of the fire with Hera unconscious on the floor at his feet. The bride moved into the room without invitation, seeming to float across the floor as she approached, her eyes darting back and forth between the mortal and the Count.

"Master?"

"She's alright, my dear. I have not harmed her," Dracula said quietly, though he continued to stare at the flames before him.

"How can I be of service to you, my lord?" the dark-haired beauty inquired, falling to her knees at his side, head bowed and eyes cast downward in submission.

The Count glanced over at her for an extended moment, something peculiar in his expression – regret maybe? Whatever it was, Verona missed it, not looking up until he spoke after returning his attention to the fire.

"Where are your sisters?"

"We are here, master," Marishka called out timidly from the hall, Aleera following close behind as they joined Verona at the Count's chair, kneeling before him.

"Verona and Marishka, I would like you to take Miss Garret down to the dungeons to keep Boris company for the time being. See that she is secured so she cannot escape. Then tell Igor to release two of the wolves with instructions to not let any person enter or exit the premises. Then you may return home."

"Yes, master," the two women said in unison, and together they lifted Hera off the floor and carried her out of the room, leaving Aleera alone and awaiting instruction.

Dracula allowed the uncomfortable silence to linger for several long and agonizing minutes until Aleera was clearly uncomfortable not just with the wait, but from maintaining her position before him. For a moment, she had thought he had forgotten about her and she opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand, the motion silencing her.

Though clearly irritated with being shushed, Aleera remained submissive, and when the Count was satisfied with her obedience, at last he spoke.

"I need you to do something for me, Aleera," he began.

"What would you have me do, my lord?" she inquired, eyes shifting down to the ground.

Dracula studied the woman for just a moment.

He had always found his youngest bride particularly attractive. Her hair was one thing, but her figure had always been especially pleasing to him – those generous curves and her narrow waist. He leaned forward in his seat and took her chin in his hand, urging her to look up at him.

"I need you to deliver a letter for me," he explained in softer tones, running his thumb over her plump lips thoughtfully.

"What kind of letter, master?"

"A letter of great of importance, addressed to Prince Velkan," he said, revealing the neatly folded and wax-sealed document before running the corner of it down her cleavage line in a suggestive manner. "And when you return to me, you shall be rewarded," he added, pushing the letter between her breasts, loving how her eyes lit up in excitement at the proposition.

Oh how naïve she was.

"Rewarded?" she perked up as his finger sank between her breasts, pushing the document as far down as he could before gently pulling her a little closer.

"Yes, my darling," he promised her. "I have noticed how you've come to think so ill of me, assuming that I could ever replace _you_ ," and he urged her a little closer, lips nearing hers at an agonizing rate. She was between his legs now, still on her knees and looking up at him like some kind of puppy eager for a treat. "It would appear you are thirsty for some individual attention, Aleera," he purred. "We are long overdue."

He allowed the tips of his fangs to show from behind his lips, Aleera mistaking the action as evidence of his arousal, rather than the warning that it was.

"Oh master, you mean just the two of us?" she cooed, running her hands up his firm thighs.

"Just you and me, Aleera," he growled, "alone in this castle… with no one to hear you scream."

Aleera shivered in delight, completely oblivious of her master's true intentions. He wasn't going to make love to her. Dracula was determined to make sure that his youngest bride never caused him trouble ever again.

Come morning, the Count would leave Aleera in some remote chamber of Castle Frankenstein to wait out the day on her own, naked, sore, and furious that some mortal had weaseled her way between herself and her master.

* * *

 **REVAMP NOTES - _Here's what changed..._**

 **The original version of this chapter involved an inexcusably violent and _waaay_ OOC Dracula, coupled with a terrible whipping scene that the beta and I decided needed to be cut. This is what has taken it's place and I must say, I am extremely pleased with how it turned out - and I don't say that often ** (because I'm super critical of myself. I can't help it) **.**

 **I would REALLY appreciate any and ALL feedback on this chapter in particular because it is so very different from the original and I've been longing to hear your opinions on the subject. It was certainly quite the challenge to write, as the direction is _very_ different from the original and I was struggling with setting up a solid and tense beginning, and then nurturing those feelings of anxiety, the lingering darkness, and just absolute dread and horror, ALL while keeping the Count _and_ Hera in character.**

 **Needless to say, the task was an exhausting one.**

 **I'm hoping** *crosses fingers* **that I did my job well, but I won't know unless you tell me, so please leave me a note when you finish to give me your thoughts. I'm eager to hear them. Thanks again for stopping by! Next chapter will be up either Wednesday or Friday.  
**

 **\- T**


	15. The Deal

**A HUGE thank you to all those read the last chapter, and especially to those who reviewed -** Scarlet Empress **,** She-Devil Red **,** alexc1209 **,** Madam Silver **,** 12345678910 **,** Bloodsired **,** the invisible reader **,** RegencyPoet **,** niccalexandra51 **,** DreamBubbles **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** wolfgirl **,** ShadowSpade **, and** LadyInRouge **. Your feedback on chapter 14 was amazing and immensely helpful! Thank you for taking the time to comment! **

**Here's the next chapter for you. Many of you were wondering what Dracula had in store for Hera - well... let's just say that the games are only beginning.**

 **Also - DISCLAIMER: bit of lemon at the end, though it's more insinuation than anything else.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **XV**

 _ **The Deal**_

His heart raced and his blood boiled as he trekked through the knee-deep snow, Anna following close behind. Hera had not come home like she had promised, and the letter which had been discovered at the front door in the later part of the afternoon wasn't helping his outlook on things.

Velkan would admit it.

He was worried.

To make matters even more complicated, it had been Anna who had first read the letter from the Count.

It read:

 _Seeing as I have been more than generous with your family, not only during the past few months by permitting you to keep Miss Garret under your supervision, but in regards to the fact that you continue to_ _live_ _and_ _breathe_ _, I have decided that we are overdue for a change in pace. It is my intention to make sure each side of the board is even, and considering the events which have recently transpired – and don't worry Anna if you have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure your brother would love to explain it to you – I hereby challenge a single member of the Valerious family to a duel. Your champion shall naturally be of your choosing. The stakes I wish to discuss with you in person._

 _Meet me this very evening on the outskirts of Visceria at sunset—no tricks, no weapons, and no villagers. Any violations of my requests will result in the immediate demise of Miss Garret, of whom this meeting is concerned. If you refuse to concede with my terms, then allow me to inform you that the next time you meet Miss Garret, she will no longer have a heartbeat, and she will call me master._

Upon reading the message, the entire Valerious manor had been in uproar, particularly after Anna had confronted Velkan about the "events which have recently transpired" part of the letter.

To put it plainly, Anna was not especially pleased regarding the secret affair between Hera and her older brother. She accused him of bringing dishonor to their family's name and how disappointed their father would be when he found out. But being under the strain of Hera's absence, Velkan lost his temper with his younger sister.

"Anna, when will you realize that we will not make it through this war?!" he had shouted at her. "You and I will not survive to get married, to have families of our own. Our legacy dies with us Anna, and I will not die without experiencing some form of affection or physical gratification from someone that hasn't already been paid! I do not love this complete stranger of whom I'm certain I will never have the _chance_ to marry! But I do care about Hera and if you can't accept that, then you are more narrow-minded than the entirety of our ancestry!"

Needless to say, his speech had silenced his sister, at least for the time being. After spending a good hour or so separated from each other, she apologized for her reaction and decided to accompany him when he left to face Dracula.

"I care very much for Hera, Velkan, it's just – don't you realize what your selfishness has brought upon us?" Anna had expressed after they had pulled on their winter wear, heading out the door. "I mean, did you have to bed her? You knew what Dracula would do if he found out and he _always_ finds out."

"I know, Anna, I know," Velkan had sighed. "I just wish you'd see what my sacrifice is doing for our family."

Anna had then sent her brother a strange look.

"You're not using her… are you Velkan?"

Although Velkan neither denied the accusation nor confirmed it, Anna refused to think the worst of her brother. He wouldn't go through this much trouble for a woman if she didn't mean _something_ to him… would he?

Well, Anna suppressed the temptation to entertain the idea, and instead continued to trudge alongside her brother as the sun melted into the horizon behind them. It wasn't long before they reached the designated spot, finding Dracula standing in the snow in all his black glory, his three brides perched in the trees surrounding the area, Hera nowhere in sight.

"Where is she?" the prince demanded, taking a brave step toward the Count. "Where is Hera?"

Dracula remained motionless, his lips curving into a sneer, delighted with the predictable reaction of his rival.

"Your grace, I am most pleased to see you got my little note," he mused sadistically. The vampire then noticed Anna beside her brother and he cocked a brow. "And Princess Anna, too! I'll take it you've heard of the torrid liaison between your brother and Miss Garret?"

Anna struggled to stay as natural as possible. She was standing less than ten yards from her family's greatest enemy – few had ever done the same and lived to tell the tale.

"Yes, I've heard," she answered flatly.

The Count looked the princess up and down in a manner that made her dreadfully subconscious.

"It would appear the two of us were left out, my dear. Perhaps one day you and I may have an entanglement of our own," he teased.

Anna could feel the Count in her mind, his hypnotic gaze beginning to lull her into his spell, but the hiss of his brides up above kept her from moving toward him or even responding to his proposition. She flushed in embarrassment at how easily he had manipulated her thoughts.

Dracula smiled at his brides' response and he tsked playfully.

"But it would appear we are overruled. My lovelies, keep the princess occupied will you? Velkan and I need to talk, one man to another."

Anna disappeared into the forest when Verona, Aleera, and Marishka took off after her, their cackling laughter echoing in the twilight air. Dracula then turned his attentions back to the infuriated prince.

"Where is Hera?" Velkan demanded once more.

"Who? Ah yes, your paramour…. She's right here," and with a wave of the vampire's cloak, Hera appeared beside the Count, seemingly unharmed, save her uncharacteristically blank expression.

"Hera!" Velkan shouted in relief and he took a step forward to retrieve her, when the Count raised a finger and the prince abruptly stopped in his tracks, unable to move.

"Ah, ah, ah… not so hasty, your highness," the Count drawled before taking Hera's hand in his and pulling her towards him, wrapping her and himself in his cloak so she'd stay warm. "You can have her back, but you and I need to talk first."

The prince called Hera's name once more, but she didn't even acknowledge him. She just continued to stare blankly ahead. Velkan soon realized that the Count had managed to obtain full control of Hera's mind. Although somewhere buried deep in her subconscious, she continued to fight him, any protestations on her part had become half-hearted.

There was no being free of Dracula unless he willed it, and what a terrifying thing to be a puppet on his string.

"She can't hear you, Velkan. She can't even see you," the Count taunted wickedly. "Her will is my own," and he wrapped an arm tightly around the mortal, soaking in the heat of her body and Velkan watched as Hera – as if possessed – nuzzled her face into the vampire's shoulder, crooning suggestively up at him.

"She's so warm," Dracula continued. "So full of life," and he stroked the woman's cheek tenderly with the back of his finger.

"Leave her be, Count," Velkan begged pitifully. "Just leave her alone."

"Now why should I do that, your grace? Why would I relinquish her to your care? Is it so you can take her home and keep her safe? Don't insult me, Valerious. You want her for the same reasons I do. Outside of your childish infatuation, she's nothing more to you than an object to satisfy your lust. You forget, I can see _right_ through you!"

Velkan stepped back in surprise at the Count's accusation.

"That… that's not true," the prince struggled. "I love Hera! I'd die for her!"

Dracula's ears perked up at the confession and his smile turned malicious.

"Oh, you would, would you?" and he cupped Hera's cheek, still enveloping her in his cloak as her eyes looked longingly up into his. "Did you hear that my little spitfire? He thinks he's in love with you."

Velkan watched in a strange swirl of disgust, horror, and morbid fascination as the Count hovered his lips breathlessly over Hera's as though he wanted to kiss her. She whimpered when he didn't and the vampire leaned his head forward and started to run his lips over her neck softly. Dracula observed Velkan's reactions out of the corner of his eye as Hera clung to the front of his jacket, biting her lower lip suggestively when one of the vampire's hands splayed across her back. She arched into him in response.

"He'd die for you," the Count whispered into her ear, licking it with the tip of his tongue before lightly nibbling the lobe and the woman crooned a bit louder that time as if she were on the edge of oblivion and he was keeping her anchored to the ground.

Velkan could feel his blood boiling in jealousy as his family's greatest enemy touched and kissed a will-less and powerless Hera. Though he was certain she was being made to appear like she was enjoying it, that insecure part of him secretly believed that deep down, she truly was.

"Don't touch her, you monster!" Velkan shouted angrily, trying to step forward to do something, but he could not move his legs.

"Why not?" Dracula said, voice erotic and low as he allowed a good portion of Hera's bare shoulder to be seen and he closed his mouth over the flesh and Hera moaned softly as he placed love-bites all over the pale curve. "Are you jealous, Velkan? Jealous that I'm touching _your_ property? She belongs to no one, little prince. She's supposed to stay neutral, remember? Are you afraid she'll grow tired of you someday? That she'll come to me instead?"

The vampire slid his hand over her exposed collar, his fingers tracing the protruding bone and her hands latched harder onto him, as if the pleasure his mere touch created was so great she could barely stand upright.

Velkan wanted to tear the Count to pieces and sink into the abyss of despair at the same time, and though he longed to end this vile scene, he could not tear his eyes away.

"Will you still love her if I have my way with her?" Dracula wondered darkly, and Velkan helplessly watched as the vampire smoothed his palm over the edge of Hera's blouse, moving it down to reveal a little more of her pale breast before taking the supple flesh in his large hand, the action eliciting a sound of profound approval from the woman.

Velkan would have rather died in that moment than to see this monster fondle the woman in his arms. The Count's behavior was indecent and cruel and Velkan finally fell to his knees in defeat just before Hera could kiss the vampire's lips.

"What do you want from me?" the prince despaired submissively.

That was exactly what Dracula wanted to hear.

He immediately ceased his touching and with a snap of his fingers, Hera fell silent and she cuddled mindlessly into his chest, her eyes closed as though she were sleeping.

"Two things, your highness. Just two things," Dracula replied as if unmoved by the eroticism of just a few moments ago. "The first—I do believe I challenged your family to a duel, and it would please me immensely if you accepted that challenge on their behalf."

Velkan looked up at the Count with suspicion in his eyes.

"And the second?"

Dracula's smile widened.

"If ever Hera's devotions change, if you break her heart _once_ , you are _mine_."

Velkan didn't like the sound of that.

"Why would you care if I broke her heart?" he asked curiously, cocking a brow.

"Because that would mean she'd come crying to me, since she'd have no one else to go to. Come now, Velkan. Do try to keep up!" he mocked. "Although if you truly loved her, as you claim to, you'd have nothing to worry about. But you and I know better, don't we, little prince? If you break her heart, Velkan, you will come and work for me."

"I would rather die than help you!'

"All this talk of death, your grace. I'd be concerned if I cared an iota for your well-being," Dracula said with an apathetic sigh. "Why don't we discuss the technicalities at a later time? I do believe this duel is the most pressing matter at hand. The stakes shall be thus. If you win…"

"You leave Hera alone," Velkan instantly snapped. "You never touch her, speak to her, or anything of the sort ever again!"

"And if I win?"

Velkan was silent. He knew there was only one way to make this even, and the mere thought of it twisted his insides into nauseating knots.

"Are you willing to sell your lover to me, Velkan?" he mused. "But I thought you loved her?" Velkan stood, his gaze fixed on the unconscious Hera in Dracula's arms. "If I win this duel Velkan, Hera lives with me for the next seven months."

The prince's eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

" _What_?!"

"I think that's fair, don't you? After all, it was you who threw her into this mess, you who couldn't keep your passions in check." Velkan went to retort, but he snapped his mouth shut when the Count continued. "Seven months, Velkan, and she is to have absolutely no contact with you or your sister or any other pitiful member of your family. When that time is up, she will be free to decide which side of the board she wishes to position herself on… mine… or yours. I do believe that is rather generous of me, is it not?"

"But no one can defeat you," Velkan insisted. "My entire family has died trying."

Dracula shook his head as if he were disappointed.

"That is so like a Valerious to claim defeat before the battle has even begun – so eager to surrender when things become too difficult. A pity, really. Makes for no sport at all." Dracula looked down at the slumbering woman cuddled in his arms and he sighed. "I'll tell you what, little prince. You may bring whatever weapons you choose. Bring the entirety of your armory if you wish, but when I defeat you – and defeat you I will – Hera is mine."

"No. I will not have you make me look like a fool. We will do this the proper way," Velkan insisted. "You and I shall duel with swords. To make it fair, you cannot fly, disappear, or anything supernatural of the sort. It will be man against man. A test of skill."

"I agree to your terms."

"So it is done then. When shall this duel be?"

"Although I'd love to do it now and get it over with, I've always been a bit of a romantic. I will grant you the next three days to spend with your lover, your highness. Three days to prepare. Will that be sufficient for you?"

Velkan nodded.

"You are too generous, Count," he replied sarcastically with a theatrical bow.

"I know."

With some minor maneuvering, Dracula lifted Hera up into his arms, her disheveled copper hair looking like a waterfall of lightly curled rust over his elbow. The Count placed the unconscious woman into Velkan's arms.

"Three days, Velkan. In this very spot. I think twilight will be a sufficient time. And if you value the lives of those in your family, as well as this little spitfire," and he ran the back of his finger across Hera's cheek, "you _will_ be on time. Miss Garret is to be with you, just in case you lose."

"I refuse to lose against you, especially when so much is at stake"

Dracula merely smiled.

"We shall see, little prince. We shall see."

He then took a step back and unleashed a roar, summoning his brides who returned to him instantly, flying above him in the air. Anna eventually came limping back towards the clearing, appearing to have been tossed around a bit. Dracula stared hard at the prince, disgusted with the fact that his prisoner was now in Velkan's arms once more.

"Three days!" he reminded him before shifting into his beast form and taking off into the night, his brides following close behind.

 _Three Days._

* * *

Hera finally awoke early the following morning. Her head throbbed and her body was a bit stiff, but she was in one piece with no damage done to her person. Velkan was seated on the edge of her bed, illuminated in the morning sunlight that was streaming into the room through the windows, his smile – the most welcoming sight she had seen since she had left this place.

"Thank God, you're alright," he sighed in relief as he took her hand and kissed it ardently.

Hera beamed, offering a dreamy sigh as she continued to lay in bed, her headache slowly drifting away as Dracula's hold on her dissipated into nothingness. She rubbed away the dull ache in her head.

"What happened?"

The smile on Velkan's face lessened somewhat.

"What do you remember?"

Hera thought about it for a moment.

"The last thing I really remember was waking up to the sight of these two glowing circles of blue. After that is so vague… like a dream…" she answered in a far away tone. She then looked over at Velkan who was staring intently at the hand that rested in his. "Velkan… what's going on?"

He remained silent for a moment or two before finally finding the courage to look up at her, the guilt in his expression profound.

"Hera, please forgive me," he began, and then he told her everything.

* * *

The Count was alone in his office, hidden away within the icy confines of Castle Dracula. He was sitting lazily in the chair behind his desk, his feet up on the table, and a light-weighted saber balanced perfectly on one finger. He had full confidence that he'd win the duel tomorrow.

Velkan's small lifetime of swordplay would never hold up against his four centuries of experience.

With a flick of the wrist, he managed to flip the blade up into the air, the hilt landing directly into his hand.

"Are you nervous?" a familiar voice inquired from the doorway. He didn't need to turn his head to know who it was.

"No Marishka, I am not," he answered simply.

"Let me guess. You are so confident in your skills to the point where you feel above the need of practicing," the bride mused as she sauntered into the room, taking a seat on the edge of his desk.

There was a side of Marishka that very few ever saw. Most saw the spunky and wanton blonde that she was. What many never got to see was the intelligent female behind the jewels and lavish clothing, and it was times like these that Dracula truly was grateful he had sired his "lioness," as he liked to call her.

"Like I said, Marishka, I am not nervous." He glanced up at the beautiful woman on his desk and his lips curved into a devilish grin. "However, if my sword-mistress has any pointers she'd like to give me, I'm open to suggestions."

Marishka blushed slightly – at least, as much as an undead creature could blush – and she offered her hand. He placed the hilt in her palm and let the blade slide between his fingers as she pulled it away, a suggestive gleam in his eye.

"I've watched Prince Velkan duel before. He's disorderly," she began. "Becomes overconfident far too easily. If you play with him first, make him feel like he has an advantage, he'll get lazy and you can attack him when he least expects it."

"Is that all?" Dracula asked her, his hands creating somewhat of a steeple as he rested his elbows on the arms of the chair.

"His foot work is dreadful," the bride continued, handing her master the blade once more. "He occasionally crosses his feet, doesn't always keep one in front of the other. If you move too fast for him when he faults in his foot work, he will lose his footing which will leave him open for attack."

Dracula smiled as he took the blade from his bride and sheathed it, placing it back on the desk.

"And that is just one of the reasons why I sired you, my dear. Your knowledge in the art of dueling is as impressive as any man's."

Marishka managed a shy smile.

"Well, it used to be," she corrected. "That was almost three centuries ago."

"Has it really been that long?"

She nodded, her eyes diverting to the floor.

"Master, may I ask you a question?"

He motioned for her to sit on his lap and she obeyed, wrapping her arms around his neck and fiddling with the end of his ponytail.

"What is it my dear?"

"Master… Verona and Aleera say that you do not love us, and Aleera insists that the only reason why you want to have the mortal stay so long with us is because you wish to make her your bride. Is this true?"

Dracula had to refrain from rolling his eyes.

He genuinely was at a loss when it came to these three. They knew from the beginning that he had never loved them; that he never could love them. Yet, they still persisted with the notion, as if they had somehow convinced themselves that they could change his mind.

In Dracula's experience, a great deal of the female sex had proven to be little more than a grand disappointment in some way or other. There were a number of his closer associates that occasionally insisted his standards were perhaps too high, that he expected too much of the gentler sex, and for a time, he had considered the truth in their argument.

And then he had met Hera.

Was the mortal perfect? Of course not. But there was something about her that was so different from what he was used to, he couldn't help but be drawn to her. Verona seemed to be the only one of his brides that even remotely understood this.

"No my pet, I do not plan on making her my bride," Dracula said at last. "You and your sisters are plenty."

"Do we even please you any more, my lord?" Marishka inquired, fiddling with one of the chords of his vest. Dracula took the curious hand in his before kissing it.

"Oh yes my darling, you please me greatly," he assured her in low, sensuous tones.

Marishka's eyes began to glow an insane yellow and he felt her knee slide to one side of his body, while the other moved to the opposite side so she was straddling him. He grabbed the front of the large, beaded necklace around her throat and pulled it slowly so her lips would be closer to his. Dracula brushed his mouth against the girl's very softly and he caught the sound of a slight whimper of passion.

"Master, you should save your energy for tomorrow. You need your rest," the bride insisted, though her tone suggested otherwise.

She wanted it just as much as he did, maybe even more.

His brides were all very much the same – dependent on the pleasure he could create in them, a pleasure that had gone unmatched by anyone or anything. They were addicts, and that silent acknowledgement made him wonder –

When was the last time he had actually made _love_ to someone, instead of the constant mindless sex he had grown so accustomed to?

He couldn't remember when, and he was barely given an opportunity to care as he soon allowed himself to be seduced by the nudity of Marishka's nubile body. And yet, as they rode the waves of ecstasy together on his desk, the thought still nagged in the back of his mind…

When was the last time?


	16. The Duel

**Oh my lovely, gorgeous, kind, and extra wonderful readers! You guys are just so amazing! Seriously, I have been so utterly blown away by your support and overall response to this story and I can't thank you enough for not only your devoted readership, but for the wonderful reviews. Not only do I cherish all of your feedback immensely - your excitement, your insights, and even the critiques - but your wealth of positivity has been a glorious and much needed pick-me-up since the start of this journey. So thank you!**

 **Well my darlings, we're nearing my favorite section of the story, but first! - Dracula and Velkan need to fight.**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

 **Also - I'd be amiss if I didn't send out a tremendous thank you to** She-Devil Red **,** alexc1209 **,** the invisible reader **,** Madam Silver **,** Scarlet Empress **,** 12345678910 **,** Bloodsired **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** RegencyPoet **,** DreamBubbles **,** niccalexandra51 **,** The One and Only Charcoal **,** jenny **,** ShadowSpade **, and** bloodyrose2014 **for recently reviewing. You guys are seriously the greatest!** *insert tackle hug here*

 **Even though the vast majority of you accurately predicted the outcome of this chapter, I hope you still enjoy it! Thanks again for all your support!**

* * *

 **XVI**

 _ **The Duel**_

The day was bitterly cold, one of the coldest the area had seen in some time. The sky had been dark and overcast since the morning, and as twilight approached, an unnatural fog came in from the mountains, settling over Visceria and the surrounding forest.

Velkan and Hera had arrived at the designated spot early, just to be safe; the two situated near a tree on the edge of the clearing. Hera was dressed in the clothes she had initially arrived in, with her army-green hoodie and video iPod (which was still miraculously working) on her as well. The only thing she wore that wasn't hers was the thick coat Anna had lent her for the winter months.

Velkan had convinced his sister to stay behind at the manor so she could remain safe in case something happened to him. Anna did not care for the plan her brother proposed, but after hours of arguing, she finally relented, tears in her eyes when she hugged Hera and wished her brother good fortune as the couple made their departure.

The two now lingered in an uncomfortable silence as they waited for the Count to arrive, the woman with her knees tucked close to her body in an effort to keep herself warm. Velkan was still fiddling with his saber in hopes that the light practice would calm his nerves, but it was futile. The prince would have infinitely preferred to go on a werewolf hunt unarmed than face the task before him.

Hera wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of staying with Dracula and his harem for seven months straight, but what really made her unhappy was that Velkan had agreed to the conditions without even bothering to fight for her input or consent. Knowing the Count's level of conceit well enough, she figured he wouldn't agree a task that he knew he couldn't complete with ease. This entire arrangement had been doomed from the start.

She sighed heavily, imagining what it would be like to live with the infamous Count Dracula, struggling to find some reason as to how this situation could in fact be a good thing.

 _Maybe he has a decent library_ she thought to herself, but that's all she could really come up with.

Hera was convinced that her stay with the Count would consist of daily attempted seductions, perhaps some bullying from his brides, and the freezing corridors of his icy fortress. At best, she'd probably get her own cot in the dungeons with a bucket as a chamber pot. The young woman shuddered at the thought.

Pulling her knees closer to her body, Hera rested her chin between the two bones as she and the gypsy prince continued to wait. Velkan finally stopped fiddling with his sword as he sat down beside her, unsure of what to do or what to say, so he settled with,

"Hera, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. If it hadn't been for me insisting that you miss your meeting with the Count to stay with me, none of us would be in this mess."

Although Hera had to agree with him on that point, she resisted the temptation to begrudge him and chose to offer him a reassuring smile instead. She may have been deeply disappointed in the prince, but she could not hate him. Despite Dracula's words from a few nights ago, the ones that continued to taint her perception of the Valerious heir, Hera still wanted to give Velkan the benefit of the doubt.

She refused to believe that his actions and intentions were founded in malicious intent. They couldn't be...

"Velkan?" she asked, after several long minutes of silence. "Do you regret it?"

He looked over at her and smiled, caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers before he pulled her close in an effort to keep her warm.

"No," he whispered, looking directly into her eyes. "I don't regret one minute of it," and he ran his thumb over her lips in a thoughtful manner. "I could never."

She was not fully convinced of his proclamation, but his appearance of sincerity satisfied her for the present as he started to lean forward, brushing his lips against hers with a warm gentility before he captured them whole. Hera wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer as he deepened the kiss, the two of them struggling to savor one another for what could be the last time for a long time.

"I love you, Hera," he breathed before kissing her once more, sinking his hands into her soft hair, his fingers getting lost in the tangle of curls.

She did not return the proclamation, but she did accept him when he began to kiss her with greater fervor the longer they sat there. But it didn't matter how good his kisses felt. Hera was silently awash in her own inner turmoil, the words of the Count filling her head with more and more doubt, even as her more hopeful nature struggled not to vilify the man whose arms she was presently in.

Fortunately, the moment was shattered by four familiar screeches coming from up above them in the sky. Hera used the interruption to break away first, her eyes scanning the canopy above for the source of the sound. Within moments, she caught a glimpse of something large and black followed by three white creatures, all with outstretched wings.

"Looks like we're doing this after all," she muttered, mostly to herself.

Velkan's grip on her tightened almost possessively as Count Dracula landed in the clearing, followed by his brides, the three women standing behind him in their regular, scantily clad glory, unfazed by the chill.

Dracula observed how close the two mortals were to each other and though a bit put out that Hera had clearly been kissing the prince just moments ago – after _everything_ – the vampire put on his best charismatic smile as he stepped forward.

"Good evening, Prince Velkan," he answered civilly, before allowing his eyes to linger on the mortal woman who had become the cause of all this fuss. "Miss Garret."

Although still angry with the vampire, Hera flashed him a cynical grin.

"Count… long time, no see," she replied, holding his gaze without a single sign of intimidation. "I missed you," she lied, her tone mordant.

She had hoped that her sarcasm would wipe that condescending smirk off his face, but it only managed to widen it.

"And I you. Three days without your company – I think I was beginning to experience withdraws."

"Poor Count," was her riposte.

"But have no fear my dear, for within the hour it shall be shortly remedied."

Though she continued to smile, her eyes narrowed.

"I'd hate to be such a burden to anyone, especially you."

Dracula had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. Oh, how he loved her playfulness. After everything she had been through in the last week, Hera chose humor over her evident desire to shout abuse at him. He admired her immensely for it.

"My dear, you are a burden all men wish to carry," he answered. He then spoke to his brides, although he was still continuing to face Hera, the two staring into each other's eyes, silently daring the other to break contact first. "My lovelies… find a safe place for Miss Garret to sit and watch, and uh… keep her company."

Verona stepped forward first.

"Come this way," she encouraged.

Hera stood of her own accord after giving Velkan a reassuring smile and one last kiss —just to spite the vampire who had trouble hiding his dislike for the display. After sending the Count a triumphant smirk, she followed after Verona, Marishka and Aleera, the four women deciding to position themselves up in a tree to make sure they stayed out of the way of the men.

As soon as Hera was situated, the brides followed suit, Aleera sitting as far away from the mortal as she possibly could, her disposition barely civil.

Hera observed the two gentlemen closely as they removed any article of clothing that would obstruct their movements and then they began to prepare themselves for the battle to come. As they did so, Marishka turned to look back at Verona who was seated beside Hera.

"How long do you think this'll take?" she asked the eldest bride.

The woman shrugged, examining her long nails in a bout of boredom.

"That depends entirely on the master. If he wants to get it over with, he'll end it quickly. But I fear he'll choose to toy with the Valerious boy first. We may be here a while."

Marishka muttered something incoherently under her breath as she glanced back in the direction of her master and the mortal who were conversing about things she could honestly care less about. The blonde vampire then began to quietly examine the poor woman who was stuck in the middle of all of this and she moved a bit closer to her.

"So how does it feel, having the master and Prince Velkan vying for your allegiance?" she inquired point blank.

"I think it's rather ridiculous," Hera answered truthfully. "And Dracula has a total unfair advantage over Velkan. I seriously don't understand why he agreed to the Count's terms in the first place. The whole scenario had 'trap' written all over it."

"A pity for the prince then that you were unable to have a say in the arrangement," Verona interjected with an amused smile.

"If your master hadn't rendered me incapacitated, I'm convinced we wouldn't be here right now. "

"What would you have proposed then, in place of a duel?" Marishka wondered with genuine curiosity.

"Something far less violent – like knitting or something."

The two older brides laughed at the joke, but Aleera's expression only seemed to grow more acidic.

"That's an absurd challenge," she muttered to herself, though loud enough for the others to hear.

"That's kind of the point, Aleera," Hera explained.

Aleera wouldn't even look at the woman, let alone acknowledge that she had spoken. She refused to befriend the mortal as her sisters clearly were; not after what she had gone through just a few nights ago, even if it _was_ her own doing.

But being the arrogant woman that she was, Aleera preferred blaming her misfortunes on someone else, and Hera was the perfect candidate. How she secretly wished Velkan would somehow win this duel today. She didn't like the idea of her master spending every waking hour of the next seven months wooing and potentially falling head-over-heels in love with some unworthy human.

She didn't like the idea at all.

"Oh, they're about to begin!" Marishka suddenly chimed in excitedly, noticing how the two men had taken their stances.

Velkan's form reflected a hint of apprehensiveness. He looked tense, on edge, whereas the Count stood tall and proud like a gentleman, all straight lines and sharp angles, his blade poised and ready.

Then the duel began.

It was immediately clear to Hera that the Count was going easy on Velkan, but that didn't mean the fight in itself wasn't at all interesting to witness. Velkan had attempted to teach her how to fence at one point, but he turned out to be a dreadful instructor and the two would always end up laughing hysterically the entire time.

She watched the Count move with exquisite grace through the snow—he was like some kind of artist, his movements precise, effortless, and it left Hera in a slightly awed state.

"Fencing is a gentleman's sport," Marishka explained to Hera. "The master has always fancied sword-play with real swords, like the ones used in battle. Fencing was somewhat of a hobby of his, back in the day – a good means of practicing ones footwork and speed."

"Evidently," was all Hera could think to say.

Verona leaned forward.

"Marishka used to be quite talented with a saber herself when she was alive," she added. Hera glanced over at the blonde in surprise.

"Really? I had no idea!"

Marishka smiled modestly and Aleera just rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the three of them.

"My father was a blacksmith," Marishka explained. "He had always wanted sons, but he got my sister and I instead. My sister was a good ten years older than me, and she married young, so all my father had was myself after my mother died. I had always wanted to learn how to fight, but my mother would say it wasn't a lady's sport. It was meant for men – from gentlemen of high standings to barbaric warriors. My father felt differently though."

Hera listened attentively as Marishka opened up a bit about a past the mortal had never known about, genuinely fascinated.

"Now, I was never permitted to yield an actual sword," the woman continued. "So my father, for my seventh birthday, had crafted a beautiful lightweight foil. I didn't get to use a rapier or a saber until I was older. He was an excellent swordsman, and an amazing instructor."

"Velkan tried to teach me," Hera explained a bit sheepishly. "But it turned out disastrous."

The bride laughed sympathetically.

"The Valerious love to collect weapons, but whether or not they are capable of using them effectively is an entirely different matter. No… I'll explain it to you," and Marishka pointed down at her master and Velkan, who were still dueling. "Now, the basics of fencing are defenses, or parries, and simple attacks, like posts, reposts, and lines," Marishka began.

She continued as the swordfight went on, explaining and using the two duelists as examples to illustrate how most attacks were with the tip of the blade, and then clarifying that it was very difficult to use an edge maneuver, which often lines one up in a position where they are prone to attack.

Velkan appeared to have trouble with that every now and then.

The bride then explained how one can vary the speed and force of a cutting attack by making the attacks from the shoulder, the elbow, or the wrist, although true strength is in the entire arm. But for optimum quickness and agility, most of the motions should remain focused in the lower forearm area. Full-range shoulder swings would leave the body open to attack and were easier to avoid.

Marishka went on as the duel grew in intensity, clarifying that attacks from the wrist were quickest - but they were also weakest; attacks from the shoulder were the strongest, and the slowest and she pointed it out with both her master and Velkan's technique.

A loud cry of frustration soon disrupted the little fencing lecture and the four women turned back to actually watch the duel. Dracula had gained an advantage and was moving much faster than Velkan could handle. Both were littered with several cuts here and there.

The rule was that the first to be stabbed would be declared the loser, and Dracula was ready to bestow the title onto Velkan.

Hera was on the edge of her seat, leaning forward in the tree as she watched the already intense mêlée as it became fiercer, the Count's moves quickening, and Velkan was struggling to keep up.

"He's going to finish it," Verona whispered. "It's in his face."

Aleera leaned forward as if to acquire a better view. Although she was pleased her master was the more superior fighter, she still hated the reality of Velkan's inevitable failure. The prince's footwork was becoming intolerably sloppy as he tried to block the Count's ruthless attacks and Marishka pointed this out.

"He's crossing his feet… you NEVER cross your feet! You could trip and fall!"

Hera held her breath as the skirmish reached its peak. Velkan faltered but managed to keep himself upright, but his one error in movement gave Dracula the ample opportunity he needed to lunge forward, his blade piercing the flesh of the prince's shoulder and sinking all the way through until the hilt kept it from going any farther.

Velkan had been stabbed.

The contest was over.

The prince let out a cry of pain as the cold steel of the Count's blade was twisted cruelly in his shoulder, the warm blood oozing from the wound. The vampire grabbed the prince by the collar of his shirt, yanking him up to his feet, his face just inches from his own.

"Hera will be mine, little prince," Dracula swore quietly before shoving Velkan back into the snow, pulling his blade out of the man's body and wiping the saber clean with a cloth before sheathing it. Velkan held his shoulder, trying to numb the pain and stop the bleeding with the pressure of his hand as he hung his head in defeat.

"Velkan?" Hera called, trying to see if he was okay, as the Count was towering over the mortal, blocking him from her view.

Dracula turned slowly, almost dramatically, to face her before stepping out of the way, allowing her eyes to fall on her thwarted lover.

She was too disappointed to even react.

"I'm sorry, Hera. I tried," Velkan struggled through gritted teeth, the pain and the sense of failure almost too much to bear. "I tried."

The Count sneered triumphantly.

"My lovelies, gather up Miss Garret. It's time to take her home."

The three vampires all cackled wildly as they removed the silent and submissive Hera from the tree, Verona deciding to carry her as they all took off into the sky.

Dracula turned to face Velkan once last time while they were alone before following after the women. He knew he shouldn't gloat – doing so was a sign of arrogance; but the devil forgive him, he could not help himself.

"She will be mine, Velkan, and there is _nothing_ you can do to stop it."

And with those words left to fester within the prince, Dracula took off into the sky, letting out a roar of triumph as he sliced through the air with ease, catching up to his brides and leaving Velkan alone and defeated in the woods.

The prince would return home to the manor later that evening, empty handed and thoroughly drunk, and all Anna could do was sit on the stairs, holding her head in her hands whilst uttering the phrase _God, help us_.

* * *

 **And so begins Hera's seven month stay in Castle Dracula... I wonder how well she and the Count will do together under the same roof? Oh, the possibilities!** **Are you as excited about this as I am? ;)**

 **In all seriousness though, I'm really looking forward to the next handful of chapters. I remember the originals being an absolute joy to write and a couple of them have been rewritten which means new material for my veterans to read, but I'll be sure to point those out to you when we get there.**

 **But for now, I hope you enjoyed the most recent installment and I'm certainly looking forward to hearing your thoughts. Until next time, I hope everyone has an enjoyable weekend and I'll see you Monday for chapter 17!**

 **\- T**


	17. Castle Dracula

**My beloved readers, your unceasing support regarding this story just never ceases to amaze me. You make all that hard-work, all of those sleepless nights and long hours agonizing over every line worthwhile. Thank you for your kindness, for your encouragement, for reading and reviewing, for favoriting and following.**

 **So now we've reached my favorite section of the entire story - Hera's stay in Castle Dracula.**

 **This chapter is overflowing with Hera's snarkiness** (which makes me absurdly happy) **, and though this chapter has been thoroughly edited and scrubbed, it is still very much as it was before. I hope you guys enjoy it.**

 **Now then, for some appropriate mood music:** *turns on Sarah Brightman's _Harem_ song and starts chuckling deviously*

* * *

 **XVII**

 _ **Castle Dracula**_

The flight to Castle Dracula was certainly a once in a lifetime experience. Hera never imagined flying could be so amazing… and so bloody cold! But the sight of the Carpathian Mountains and forests rushing down below was quite the sight to be seen.

The snowcapped peaks, the sun setting in the distance – the scenery was breathtaking.

Hera remained silent throughout the majority of the trip. After a good few minutes or so, however, she could see their destination up ahead, the very top spires of the icy fortress piercing the sky. As soon as they flew over one of the large peaks, her eyes were permitted the grand view and her mouth went agape at the sight.

"Oh my God," she breathed in awe as Castle Dracula, in all its dark, gothic glory, lay before her plain in sight. The fortress was gigantic, appearing to have been carved straight out of the dark rock that made up the icy mountainous landscape around them.

"Welcome to Castle Dracula," Verona whispered in Hera's ear as they drew closer.

The mortal could feel all eyes on her as she made her silent observations, the Count's gaze in particular evidently awaiting her response.

"Well, they don't make them like they used to, that's for certain," she commented lightly. Then again, she could not recall ever coming across a structure of this magnitude in her whole study of human history. The fortress was like something out of a high-fantasy novel and the sheer size of it took her breath away.

The scale of the structure was tremendous, with spires and battlements that dwarfed anything Hera had ever seen or read about. The foundation was rooted in the living mountains, the castle's three main towers sprouting from the black rock as if the entire structure had been molded from the stone rather than built. Two bridges that connected the towers high up were the only clear signs that this monstrosity was the work of man and not spewed up by some dark force of nature, although Hera had her suspicions when it came to the latter.

The edifice was both impressive and forbidding, pulsating ominous power like a beacon in the night.

"What do you think of my home, Miss Garret?" Dracula asked, flying closer to Verona, or more appropriately, closer to Hera.

She glanced over at him, not at all intimidated by his demonic appearance. Although still upset with the Count for his most recent treatment of her, not to mention how bent out of shape she was for being forced to live with these four for the next seven months against her will, the woman couldn't help the smile that took over her lips.

"It's very impressive," she replied, staring out at the castle once more. "I don't think I've ever come across its equal."

The four vampires began to make their descent towards the entrance, landing in front of the mirror-like obelisk at the edge of the cliff on which the castle stood.

Hera noticed the mirror and she observed it with mild curiosity as the four vampires made their way toward the front door. The Count must have sensed her lagging behind because he turned around as his brides passed by, observing the way in which the young mortal woman studied at her reflection in the frozen glass.

Hera reached out for the mirror, secretly hoping that she'd be able to somehow sink into it like in the movie and appear back into the armory of the Valerious manor.

"I wonder-" she whispered to herself as she stretched out her hand.

"There is only one way through that particular door," said the Count from behind, the sudden sound of his voice making her jump in surprise and she turned to find him standing less than two feet from her. "The Valerious family has had the key to locating my home directly under their noses for centuries. I've always found it rather amusing that they could never seem to find me."

Hera rolled her eyes.

"Maybe they can't read Latin," was her irritated retort and with a dramatic turn of her heel, she walked past him towards the front door, and though she missed his bemused smirk, she could feel him following close behind.

The massive entrance to Castle Dracula appeared to be made of iron, rusted and frozen shut, and covered in a sheet of slippery ice. The transom above the door was a good thirty feet up, well out of reach, and for good reason. On the off-chance that a Valerious had located the Count's home, there would be no way of getting in unless they chose to somehow climb the ice in front of them – and they'd have to do so without getting caught.

Hera was fairly certain that neither Velkan nor Anna would be able to accomplish such a feat with success.

She watched with mild interest as the brides scaled the wall with ease, crawling right through the transom and then disappearing over to the other side. Momentarily forgetting that Dracula was still behind her, she placed her hands on her hips, her head falling all the way back so she could appreciate just how tall this door was.

"And how exactly am _I_ supposed to get in?" she muttered to herself.

"Would you care for some assistance, Miss Garret?" Dracula asked from behind.

If Hera rolled her eyes anymore, they'd probably get stuck.

"From you? I think I'll pass," she grumbled bitterly. "You've fucked my life up enough, thanks."

He tsked as he approached.

"Madam, your language, please. That's no way for a lady of your breeding to speak."

She sent him a look.

"I'm not your typical lady."

"Yes. So I've noticed. Either way, I do believe, as your host, that I am due a little more courtesy than what you are presently..."

"My _host?_ You're kidding me, right?" she interrupted.

"Look, do you want to stay outside and freeze, or what?" he suddenly snapped, growing impatient with her insolence.

Hera folded her arms stubbornly under her chest and sent him a daring look, refusing to utter a word. Dracula chose to take her silence as consent.

He marched over to her, threw her over his shoulder, despite her protests. In a single bound, he cleared the gap above the door, landing with unnatural ease in the foyer on the other side with feline-like grace.

"Put me down! Put me down!" the mortal shouted at him, shoving him for good measure when he finally released her.

Hera quickly distanced herself from the vampire, sending him a nasty glare as he mocked her with his smile and a patronizing pat on the cheek before walking past her, following his brides down the length of the room.

The entry hall consisted of high walls, pillars, and ceilings. Judging from the size of the place, it had not been designed for a man bound by gravity. Covering much of the surface of the interior walls were the cocoons of Dracula's young—tens of thousands of them. Hera shuddered in disgust as she continued to follow the vampires, though she purposefully lagged behind so she could get a better look at the place.

"Jesus Christ, you four have been busy," she said softly to herself.

Nobody should have heard her, but the four vampires did. The three brides faced the woman first, all a bit wide-eyed. Dracula, on the other hand, had to suppress a laugh as he turned to face Hera who now officially had all eyes on her.

"Are you quite finished with the indecent witticisms, Miss Garret? Or may we continue?"

"Actually, I have to ask – how did you three," and she motioned to the brides, "manage to give birth to _those_? That just…" she made a face, "there are just so many things wrong with this – anatomically speaking and otherwise. I mean, how does a sac that large come out of a tiny little… just… _no_ …" and a disturbed shiver ran through her as her imagination ran amuck for a moment.

Just the thought of the pain that must have been involved in birthing those things was more than the woman could even bear. No amount of pleasure in her mind was worth _that_.

Hera craned her head back and spun around once or twice slowly so she could take it all in.

"The rest of the place isn't all ice and rock, is it?" she wondered aloud. "Because I'm already freezing my ass off." She finally returned her attention to her hosts, her expression positively deadpan. "Oh my God, I'm not going to have to sleep in a coffin, am I? Because if that's the case, this whole arrangement isn't going to work out."

It was moments like this that Hera wished she had had a camera, because the looks she was receiving were priceless. Aleera looked irritated, Marishka appeared amused, and Verona was the epitome of poised indifference. Dracula, on the other hand, wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or break something. But being the gracious host that he was, the Count swallowed any displeasure he had, that smirk of his still lingering on his face – and that was it.

Never uttering a word of rebuke to the mortal, he turned and continued to make his way over to the grand staircase at the far end of the room, his brides following obediently after him.

A bit miffed that he hadn't given her more of a reaction, Hera pulled her iPod out of her sweatshirt pocket and shoved the buds into her ears so this pivotal moment could at least have the appropriate background music. She took her sweet time catching up with the Count who had kissed his brides good evening before leaving them to ascend up towards what Hera assumed to be the west wing.

He waited most tolerantly for the mortal at the foot of the stairs, still torn between amusement and impatience. When she finally joined him, she removed one of the buds from her ear.

"Well? Aren't you going to give me a tour, your assness?" she asked.

His smile faltered just slightly as the beginnings of a scowl creased his brow.

"Miss Garret…" he said warningly.

"Oh no, don't you _Miss Garret_ me," she shot without missing a beat. "I have _every_ reason to be pissed off with you and I fully intend to openly hate you for the duration of the evening _at least_ , so deal."

"Your mode of speech has never been as crass as it is now, and though I understand your anger, that is no excuse to…"

"You listen here, your majesty – since my inexplicable arrival here, I have been threatened, manipulated, accosted, seduced, and nearly killed on several occasions. I have tolerated your ill treatment of me with as much civility, forgiveness, and understanding as I can muster - more than you fucking deserve, by the way - but you crossed a line earlier this week. So if I feel like swearing, you better bet your sorry ass that I'm going to do so unapologetically, _and you will deal with it_."

"That is no way to speak to me, madam."

"And coping a feel when I was a mindless puppet on your string crosses so many different lines, I hardly even know where to begin," she replied, the hard bite in her tone difficult to miss. A single one of his dark brows arched in response and he opened his mouth to offer a retort, but she beat him to it. "Don't even try to deny it. Velkan told me everything. Making me simper and purr all over you like some kind of sex kitten. Ugh – what the hell is wrong with you?"

Dracula, refusing to let this mortal ruin his otherwise victorious mood, smirked and leaned it so he could look directly into her eyes.

"You may disapprove of the circumstances, but we both know some dark, secret part of you liked it," he said, and then he proceeded up the stairs, Hera glaring after him – not only because of his cheek, but because a small part of her knew he was right and she kind of hated him for it.

"I did not," she quickly denied, following after him.

He chuckled darkly.

"I am certainly anticipating debating that point further and at length with you during the course of your stay, spitfire. But first…"

"I'm not anyone's spitfire," Hera interrupted under her breath.

Dracula paused to let her finish and then continued.

"The East wing is mostly deserted rooms, many of which, if you value your life, should be avoided," he began, nodding to his right. "The West wing is permitted, but not recommended. That is where my brides and I tend to retire during the day," and he motioned to his left, still climbing the stairs. When he reached the top, Hera noticed that the stairs broke off into three directions, the final portion standing in front of them.

"The North wing is the only part of the fortress remotely livable for mortals, and that is where you will be spending the majority of your time for the next seven months."

"Yay," was Hera's unenthusiastic reply, intentionally baiting Dracula's temper, but he controlled himself remarkably well.

After climbing the last couple of stairs, he led her down a dimly lit hallway.

"This portion of the castle has been suitably heated and is free, in its entirety, for your exploration and use. Some rooms of note are the library which is down that hall," and he gestured in the direction of the hall they just passed, "a small kitchen, down in the opposite direction, and the rest I'll leave for you to figure out on your own. You're certainly capable enough."

Hera made an indecent gesture with her middle finger behind his back.

"So the four of you sleep in the West wing then?" she clarified after a few moments of silence.

Dracula glanced behind briefly, sending her a strange look.

"Yes. Why?"

"I want to know so I can be sure to avoid that area completely," she retorted, loving how his smile faded and his lips pursed into an irritated line.

"My brides have several rooms they occupy throughout the castle. The sarcophagus chambers are in the west wing, as you so astutely mentioned. That is where we usually take to rest. They have a lounge where they tend to congregate during the evening…"

"Let me guess? It's called the _harem_ chamber?" she asked snarkily.

Dracula sent her a look and she snapped her mouth shut.

"Their lounge is here in the north tower," he continued. "Their bedrooms, which are rarely used, are in the north tower as well."

"Rarely used?" Hera repeated archly, soon walking beside the Count instead of in his shadow. He glanced over at her. "What? Do you ring a bell or something whenever you need a fix and throw them over a desk or something?"

Dracula stopped walking.

Oh, the temptation to deliver a snide remark, to get upset. But despite her best efforts to make him angry, defeating Velkan had put him in an excellent mood and he refused to give her the satisfaction of getting irritated, so he instead grinned wickedly at her, his face inching closer to her own.

Two could play this game.

"No. Sex, I'm sure you'll agree, is much more comfortable in a bed, rather than on the floor or against a wall - though I'm certainly not particular when it comes to location or position," he explained, voice low and brazenly salacious. He motioned to the upper levels with his eyes. "My bedchambers are on the top floor of this tower," he added suggestively, "should you ever get lonely."

Hera's eyes narrowed.

"Why would I need you when I am perfectly capable of taking my pleasure into my own hands?" was her devious reply and she wiggled her fingers in front of his temporarily stunned face with a mocking smile.

Oh, if only Hailey were here to see her being so openly wicked! She'd be so proud.

Before the Count could offer a response, Hera moved around him so she could keep walking, an angry kind of laughter in her voice.

"Count, you are, without a doubt, the most sordid, misogynistic, amoral man I have _ever_ met!" and she began to move away, but he grabbed her arm and yanked her back, his irritation creeping to the surface.

"Miss Garret, you may claim loathe me now, but I can guarantee I _will_ grow on you before the next seven months are out… you never know what could happen," he replied with thinly veiled eroticism, taking her hand in his and forcing her clenched fist open as he examined those fingers she had so brazenly mention just a moment ago.

"Was that on me or _in_ me?" she glowered.

"Don't be vulgar, pet," he crooned, leading one of her fingers to his mouth. She suddenly swung her free hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist before her palm could reach his cheek. "If you want to play _that_ particular game, I should warn you that it's usually me doing the beating; not to mention you are _woefully_ overdressed for such a diversion."

"You are repulsive," she informed him. "And I'm not your fucking pet."

He smiled and patted her cheek after releasing her from his grip.

"If you insist. Now then, would you like to know where your room is, or do you prefer to sleep in the hall?"

"You mean you aren't going to force me to stay in the dungeons?"

He laughed at her question as he bade her to follow him with his hand.

"No, Miss Garret. Not unless that is where you'd prefer to rest. Treat my home as if it were your own. All I ask…" and he opened one door in particular and motioned for her to enter, "…is that you behave with civility and that we continue our evening sessions, at least twice a week as usual."

"Why?"

"Suffice it to say, and take this however you will, it has been a good many centuries since I've been intellectually stimulated by anyone."

"That sounds really dirty when you say it like that."

"But it's true. Conversing with you forces me to stay alert and on my toes. That, and some of your revelations regarding the advancements of the future fascinate me immensely."

"Wait, so you're saying your brides don't sate _all_ of your needs?"

But Dracula refused to answer. He had said enough and instead cleared his throat and motioned toward the open door he was still standing in front of.

"Your bedchambers, Miss Garret."

Hera's eyes fell over the revealed chamber and an expression of utter disbelief smoothed the previously agitated look on her face. Her response to the room made the Count's spine tingle as he watched her slowly enter the extravagantly decorated room.

The color scheme reminded Hera of the night sky— regal purples, blues, and black, with flints of gold—the wood of the furniture a darkly polished oak. The four-posted bed was enormous, lined with a gauze sheet which when pulled back led to the decadent silks, satins, and furs of the linens, the mattress, pillows, and comforter all stuffed to the brim with feathers.

Hera ran her fingertips thoughtfully over the lavish bed, instantly falling in love with how soft and inviting it was. It was situated on the far side of the room toward the right, a large archway leading to an equally enormous and personal bathroom, oils, incense, soaps, and lotions, all ready for her use. On the left, the farthest side of the bedroom, were three large windows, the center opening out onto a terrace on the backside of the fortress, the view overlooking the Carpathian Mountains in all their wintery glory.

After taking a good turn about the room, Hera returned her attention back to the hall, noticing that the Count was still there, waiting for her approval. Practically speechless, all she could manage to utter:

"It's gorgeous. I've seen pictures of rooms like this, but have never _lived_ in one."

"Apparently you have never truly experienced what it is like to live in the lap of luxury," he teased. She touched one of the posts of the bed, noticing the intricate designs that were lovingly hand-carved into the wood.

"My own home I always thought was spectacular. I live – or rather _lived_ – with my father in an estate on the banks of a river in the English countryside…" and she looked up at him. "But this surpasses anything I have ever seen."

He nodded cordially in appreciation.

"I'm pleased to receive your good opinion, since it is so terribly difficult to come by," he replied with affability.

"Is the rest of the house like this?" she asked curiously, her hand hovering over the beautiful vanity, in awe at each intricate detail.

Hera glanced into the mirror and could see the door behind her, but the Count was no longer there. She had briefly forgotten he didn't have a reflection, but was reminded of the fact when she felt a pair of large, strong hands rest on her shoulders and she tensed a bit as the Count whispered in her ear, his voice holding that uncanny sensuality to it.

"This entire castle is filled with magic," he breathed mysteriously.

"What kind of magic?" she asked him, struggling to resist the temptation to lean into him, to feel the hard muscle against her.

He could feel her wanting him.

Yearning for him.

Their subtly intimate proximity was only making the craving worse, and not just for her. It felt like it had been an age since the two of them had indulged in that unspoken sexual tension that – despite everything – still teemed between them. The vampire, aware of his own desires and impulses – succumbed momentarily to temptation and with a light inhale, he breathed her in.

She smelled of honeysuckle, vanilla, and the forest, a scent that elicited thoughts of summer and sunshine – warm and golden. _How appropriate_ , he mused silently, his glacial stare falling over the cool pale color of her throat.

Dracula could feel himself salivating at the thought of tasting her skin. It was quite the task to suppress his ever-growing lust for this woman, to keep his true feelings hidden, to remain focused. But God help him, it didn't help that her body, that beautiful, virtually untouched and barely claimed body was calling for him. Consciously or not, she was always calling out to him.

His spitfire wanted him still… even after the things he had done, even with her disapproval and her suspicions.

He had to school himself to patience though. She would resent him if he tried anything just yet, so at long last, after a deep, calming breath, he answered her previous question.

"That… my dear… you will have to discover for yourself," he whispered, the tip of his nose barely brushing against the shell of her ear and Hera closed her eyes in a private delight. Before she could fall in too deeply, however, she became aware of his sudden absence and turned around quickly to discover that he was no in her doorway once more.

"Goodnight, Miss Garret. Pleasant dreams."

The Count then shut the door behind him, leaving Hera to explore her new bed chamber in peace. Although the young woman still missed Velkan and Anna, all thoughts of the Valerious siblings seemed to be pushed to the back of her mind as she began to unveil all of the secrets her new room had to offer.

Maybe she could get used to this after all…

* * *

 **A huge thank you to** She-Devil Red **,** alexc1209 **,** 12345678910 **,** niccalexandra51 **,** Madam Silver **,** Scarlet Empress **,** Bloodsired **,** the invisible reader **,** HouseofWolves06 **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** RegencyPoet **,** ShadowSpade **,** ForeverACharmedOne **, and** Guest **for reviewing chapter 16. I seriously ADORE you for your feedback and commentary. Your reviews always make my day.**

 **Can't wait to hear your thoughts on this chapter!**

 **Until Wednesday, then, my lovelies! ;)**

 **\- T**


	18. Reality Sets In

**So, updates:**

 **I've finally ironed out a bit of an officially unofficial publishing schedule for this story** (for now - lol) **. For the next few weeks specifically, I'll be updating every Monday, Wednesday, and then _twice_ this Friday, next Friday, and the Friday after **(it'll all make sense when it happens, I promise. There's a reason for this!) **. That means 4 chapters a week through most of July.**

 **You're welcome.**

 **All I ask in return is that you guys continue to read and _especially_ REVIEW! Your feedback is essential and I'd hate to lose anyone during this bit of rapid-fire updating, but I'm eager to get the rest of the story out of my hair so I can actually work on _Eternal Night_ ** (because the muse has all these great ideas and I just don't have the attention span or bandwidth to focus on them right now, which is making him REALLY upset with me) **.**

 **A huge thank you to** Scarlet Empress **,** She-Devil Red **,** 12345678910 **,** the invisible reader **,** alexc1209 **,** Bloodsired **,** RegencyPoet **,** novo-o-caine **,** wolfgirl **,** Madam Silver **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** ShadowSpade **,** jenny **,** Guest **,** DreamBubbles **,** Mary **, and** MercyShadow **for reviewing chapter 17!** *hugs* **Truly, your feedback and commentary means more to me than you could possibly know. It has gotten me through _many_ a difficult week and I hope and pray I will always be worthy of it. **

**This most recent installment finds Hera a lot less snarky and crude than before** (though have no fear - our fiery Hera will be back later) **, whereas Dracula is a bit more jackass-y** (and he kinda has a good-ish reason, but his way of going about things could have used some work - the man isn't perfect. Not entirely anyway) **.**

 **No one ever said these two would get along right away while living under the same roof. But I hope you like the chapter!** **Please let me know your thoughts when you finish and leave a review! I love reading your reactions and predictions; they always make my day :)**

 **Forgive any errors I may have overlooked, and ENJOY!**

* * *

 **XVIII**

 _ **Reality Sets In**_

One would have thought that in a bed as large as this, with the finest linens that money could buy and a roaring fire only a good ten feet away—it would have been natural to assume that Hera felt comfortable. Warm. Secure.

But quite the contrary.

She felt completely the opposite when she awoke the following afternoon, having been plagued with strange, disconcerting dreams, uncomfortable thoughts, and distress so deep, she wasn't quite sure she'd be able to bear it. Now more than ever before did she truly wish she'd wake up from this wretched, yet utterly amazing dream. This twisted nightmare.

She wanted to wake up in her father's house, in her bright bedroom surrounded by her books and pictures with the sun shining in through the windows, the scent of the flowers in full bloom just below her window in the garden. She missed the comforting presence of her father, the outrageous antics of her best friend, Hailey, and she even missed the sound of François singing French duets with the cook. She missed her dog, Isis. She missed the English rain, the taste of chai tea, and the scent of her father's library.

But Hera was so very far from home and the young woman felt it more now than she had when she first arrived. Her thoughts were filled with nothing but confusion, worry, doubt, and despair.

Hera had been lying in her new bed for some indiscernible amount of time now, curled up in a ball on her side, struggling to blink back the tears she so longed to properly shed. She had struggled with bouts of home-sickness before, but now that she had been pulled away from the one place that made her feel even remotely safe, she was left to wallow in her misery.

To make matters even more complicated, she had a myriad of other, more present concerns to weigh on her mind.

Were Velkan and Anna alright?

Was Boris still alive in that dungeon in Castle Frankenstein?

Where the hell was Van Helsing right about now?

Why did Dracula want her here so badly?

Why was he so cold, so unfeeling and cruel one moment and then so warm and sexually playful the next?

Did she really have to stay here for seven months?!

Upon her arrival, her shock and disappointment from Velkan's predictable failure had been taken advantage of. Despite her admittedly poor attitude yesterday evening, there had been a small part of her that had honestly thought that her stay here could really be enjoyable – or at least not so bad. But now that her mind had given her hours to think it over, to realize the situation she was in, a terrible anxiety had turned her stomach into nauseating knots.

Hera buried herself farther under the covers, wishing she could sink into the oblivion.

Given her seclusion during the sunlight hours, she was never disrupted by any servants (if there were any) nor by the Count and his concubines. But this sudden abundance of solitude was a bit more than she cared for. In the face of such drastic change, what Hera really needed was comfort, not all this time alone. So in an effort to distract herself from slipping into a state of further unpleasantness, Hera began to take a mental account of what had happened in the last few months.

She had lived with the Valerious family, and had met and had become very well acquainted with Count Dracula and his brides. Her life had been threatened on several occasions. She had had enjoyable yet retrospectively regrettable sex with Prince Velkan, and now here she was, in Castle Dracula, basking in the aftermath of that decision.

So, what now?

Hera had never been so confused.

It was obvious that Dracula was up to something, that there was much more to his plans than his "I want to make things even" speech. There was more to those long gazes of his, the way he studied her, the things he did, the way he shamelessly flirted with her.

Well, one thing was for certain. Hera was determined to discover what the vampire's plans were, and come hell or high water, she was going to thwart them.

After making herself resolute in her game plan – what little of a plan it was – Hera was left in the silence of her unaltered reality once again. She pushed the covers away from her head, still dressed in the clothes she had been wearing yesterday, minus her boots.

What did Dracula plan on having her wear for the next seven months, exactly?

The mortal prayed he didn't have just dresses for her to wear. If that were the case, she'd steal some of his pants if she had to.

Hera rolled over onto her back so she could stare up at the large mirror placed above her bed, the black gauze drapes surrounding its borders before connecting down to the four posts and falling elegantly around the mattress. She studied herself for a good few minutes before speaking softly.

"What makes you so special?" she asked herself aloud. "Why do _I_ have to be in the middle of all of this?"

"We are all chosen for different reasons, Miss Garret. Perhaps you still need to discover yours," a stranger answered from within the room.

Hera, startled by the voice, pulled the chord that opened the drapes to her bed.

"Who are you?" she asked when she noticed a woman at the far end of the chamber, placing an elegant tray onto a small table by the fire.

The stranger appeared to be in her late forties, dark hair lightly dulled by the gray strands that were coming in, the mass pulled into a loose bun. Her attire was simple and old fashioned—a clean work dress and apron, leading Hera to assume that this woman was a servant.

"My name is Janellia, but most call me Jane. I'm the housekeeper of Castle Dracula. I was told of your arrival just before the sun rose this morning."

"Oh."

"I've brought you something to eat, although I wasn't quite sure what it is you liked. You must be starving."

"I'm fine, thank you," Hera answered. Though she hadn't eaten a thing since yesterday, given her present disposition, she had little to no appetite.

"Well, if you find yourself wanting something to eat, it's there. I'm sure the master mentioned where the kitchen and the dining room were, but didn't bother to show you."

"He did mention it," Hera confirmed, still very reserved as she hugged her knees.

Jane noticed the timidity within the mortal and offered a reassuring smile.

"Can I fetch anything for you, Miss?"

"No, thank you."

"Are you sure? I beg your pardon for being so forward, but it looks to me like you could use some cheering up."

"I'd like to be left alone, please."

"Very well," Jane said in defeat and then she quietly excused herself from the room.

When she was gone, Hera shortly thereafter burst into tears, crying softly into her pillow for reasons she couldn't quite understand. Was it because she was scared? Or because she had been "kidnapped?" Perhaps it was because in that moment she had never wanted to go home so much in all her life.

That must have been it.

Hera missed her father. She missed the servants, her friends, her professors, her books and movies, her music, the gardens, the familiar. She cried for them all until she could cry no more and she soon fell into another spell of uneasy sleep.

Hera would awaken a couple hours later to find her room empty and the tray Jane had left was still neatly situated on the small table. Although still a bit out of sorts, upon waking up, she found she felt much better than earlier, as if the shedding of her tears had eased all the burdens she had been bearing. After pulling on her cold boots, Hera made her way over to a chair by the fire, lifting the lid to the tray off to find the food Jane had left her was still steaming hot.

She stared at the meal in a very timid manner, the thought of Dracula poisoning her momentarily crossing her mind. It took just a few whiffs of the hot meal to banish the ridiculous notion and with a resolute nod of her head, she sat down and began to eat, plugging her ear buds in as she listened to some music, unable to bear the deafening silence.

After eating and later becoming better acquainted with her new room, the young woman began to look through the clothing that had been left at her disposal. She felt much improved after dressing and soon, in a desperate attempt to further distract herself from her homesickness, the adventurer in her made an appearance and she slipped out of the room and into the hall.

Unlike the foyer and the natural assumption of what she figured the fortress looked like, the North tower was the polar opposite of the rest of the house. Where she had initially anticipated the castle to be all rock and ice, this part of the house was handsomely decorated and unnervingly tidy. From the furniture and paintings that lined the corridor, to the beautiful, long Persian carpet she walked on, she couldn't find so much as a speck of dirt or even a line of a web.

At last, she reached the stairs, the view allowing her to see almost all the floors, from the tippy top to where the Count had told her his bedchamber was (and she paused to quickly vow she'd _never_ go up there), to the bottom where the main stairs led to the foyer.

The house was quiet.

Almost too quiet.

Hera found that she did not particularly care for staying in one place too long, so she continued on her journey in search of the library Dracula had spoken of. It didn't take long to find it, the enormous doubled doors giving its location away, and what she found behind those doors did not disappoint.

Enormous wouldn't have done Dracula's library justice. Monstrous would have been a more appropriate term. It seemed to go on for ages, row after row of books upon books upon books – thousands of them. Maybe even millions.

The far wall was lined with gigantic windows which crawled up a good three or four stories, and there were numerous staircases leading up to the various floors, the shelves high, covering almost every wall from ground to ceiling, unless there was a tall, high-paned window in its place.

The fireplace to the left was at least six to seven feet tall and four to five feet in depth, a beautiful painting of a mountainous scene with a majestic black dragon hanging over the mantle. Murals covered the gorgeous, high paned ceilings with crown-molding, chandeliers offering the most perfect amount of light, paintings and statues of history littering the room, along with several doors on the upper floors leading either out into the halls or into more secluded parts of the library that were dedicated to specific topics or eras of history.

Hera muttered an oath as she walked into the center of the room, amidst the many sofas and chairs and tables and lamps.

Her hand ran over a beautiful miniature statue of the Goddess Hera—her namesake – which was situated on one of the end tables, the goddess' other counterparts positioned in a variety of locations throughout the room. The stone was an unblemished white, every detail of the statue flawless and lovingly chiseled, from the voluptuous beauty of her figure and robes, to the loving aspects of her face.

"You must have cost a fortune," Hera said softly to the inanimate object.

There were other statues about the room as well, some of them famous, undoubtedly replicas—like the one of Michelangelo's David—and others of individuals she had never seen before.

As Hera explored the library, she remained blissfully unaware of the pair of eyes that watched attentively from one of the upper levels, the individual in question leaning against the banister, observing the woman with noted interest.

Dracula found it fascinating that a member of the female sex could be so engrossed in things of the past, that a young, single woman could know as much and even more than he who had lived well over four centuries, where she was only a quarter of a century old.

The girl was a born genius.

He had learned from the rare opportunities that he was able to rummage through her mind that her brain didn't work like the normal mortal brain. She soaked in nearly all of the information her senses perceived and not only retained that information, but was also able to retrieve it with the greatest of ease. How such an occurrence was even possible in a mere human was beyond him, but he found her a fascinating specimen to be around, and in more respects than one.

He hadn't met a woman quite like Hera. Come to think of it, he hadn't thought so highly of a woman before her – even though she also happened to infuriate him to no end.

Hera was now moving through several rows of books on the first floor, silently admiring the view of the frozen Carpathians from the large windows that made up the north wall. Dracula followed her with his gaze, watching as she moved with an unassuming grace, her clothes fitted, outlining every curve of her beautifully proportioned body.

He had always found her unexplainably alluring, that woman – with her strong will, surprisingly vulgar tongue, naivety, and fervently misguided sense of entitlement – like she deserved _any_ kind of special treatment. But her personality quirks only added to her charm.

Dracula leaned over the railing just a little bit more as if subconsciously trying to get closer to her. He could feel something welling inside of him at the sight of her – a bewildering sense of nervous anticipation that grew into a keenness to be near her, and then a disquieting anxiety that should he get closer, she'd be able to see right through him.

Dracula made a face.

He was not accustomed to the foreign swell of emotions swimming beneath the surface and the mere acknowledgement that this female made him anxious left him with a furrowed brow. Although her very presence seemed to call into question every value and sense of detachment that the Count had held dear, he could not deny that despite the birth of these distractingly human emotions he was now feeling, he thoroughly enjoyed looking at her.

Delicately bending her will with his so he'd remain undetected, Dracula began to move silently through the shadows, eyes remaining fixed on the woman before him as he grew more lost in his private ponderings.

Soon impatient to converse with this thought-provoking mortal and even more eager to forget the alien anxieties she produced in him, Dracula finally broke the silence, relishing in how he had startled her. At least he could still do that. But he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to do that for much longer – so he savored it.

"I've always taken great pride in my library," Dracula said, still situated on the top level of the room, providing him with a full view of the spacious chamber. He watched in amusement as Hera's eyes darted about, trying to track down his location. Remaining completely motionless so he'd be harder to find, he continued. "I've been collecting these books for centuries. Several of them, you'll find, are even older than I am, and the majority are first editions."

Just when she was about to find him, he vanished into thin air, only to reappear on a different floor, walking along the banister, never worried that he could fall to his death. He was a man not bound by gravity. Hera finally caught sight of him and she rolled her eyes as he continued with his pompous speech.

"I've read almost every single book in this library, save a handful of some of the newer items and a few novels whose contents I found to be a waste of my time."

"I'd be surprised if you found _anything_ worth your time," was Hera's mildly hostile reply, apparently not in the mood for him, his company, or his arrogant speeches.

"Care to elaborate?" he queued as they made eye contact before he began to walk up the wall and onto the ceiling with ease.

"I figured you'd be too busy trying to needlessly torment and murder the Valerious family. Or too occupied with impregnating your whores."

Although the last bit was uttered under her breath and he was easily a hundred feet up or so—maybe even higher—Hera had no doubt that he had heard her and without even looking, she could sense the nasty glare he was sending her.

It made her want to smile.

"Despite your cordial and, dare I say, friendly demeanor when you're in their company, you speak of them with such distaste and repugnance," he pointed out. He jumped the entire length from the ceiling to the floor on which Hera stood, landing right in front of her with an unnatural grace. "Why?" he wondered aloud. "Why do you dislike them so?" He then smirked. "Could it be jealousy?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she replied without a moment's hesitation.

"I'm not," he answered simply. "But I should inform you, Miss Garret, despite your best efforts to deter me, I can still tell when a woman wants me."

The look she sent him was positively venomous.

"What I want and what is good for me are two drastically different things, Count. And I fear that when it comes to you, they are polar opposites," she said. "Besides, why would I be jealous of them? Why would I want a man I can't have as it is? Or the shadow of a man, anyway. Either way, I think my very presence here has screwed up history enough as it is, thank you very much."

Hera then folded her arms, taking on a defensive stance. She didn't like how he could just read into her soul as if it were nothing. It made her feel a little violated, weak; but it was about to get so much worse.

"Then what is it?" he asked her with a peaking curiosity. "Why the demeaning commentary, if you're not even a little bit envious of them?"

His appearance, coupled with the fact that he was now stalking towards her, was intimidating to the mortal and she instinctively began to back away from him, not liking the look in his eyes.

"Although certain aspects of your brides' personalities are, I'll admit, likable, the fact that their only purpose in life is to please you and that they're perfectly content in doing so – well, as a woman I find that to be rather disappointing, that they would surrender their individuality, their own wants and desires, for a man who doesn't even love them. I'm certain at one point they were capable of original thought, that before they met you they had dreams and ambitions. But one bite from you and it was all 'who cares what I want! It's all about the _master_!' I'm sorry to say it, but any woman who gives up who she is so she can sell her soul for fleeting pleasure is in my mind, a whore."

"And what of the man who employs them?" he inquired carefully.

"You mean you want to know what I think of you?" she clarified. He nodded his head. "Considering how you reacted the last time I made you angry, I think I'll pass on that one."

"I was angry because you went back on your word, not because you insulted me."

"Don't care. Not risking it."

"Is your opinion of me so very dreadful?"

"My opinion of you seems to be getting worse by the day," she answered, staring hard at him.

"I could change that," he offered suggestively, his eyes beginning to glow.

Hera instantly diverted her eyes to the floor and spun around so her back was to him. She knew exactly where this was headed and it wasn't long before she could feel him trying to pry his way into her mind.

"No, thank you," came her cringed response, her eyes fixed on the ground as she struggled to keep her mental wall up. "You already know your mind control is a waste of your effort, Dracula. All it'll do is make me hate you more. So, if you want to _win me over_ , you might as well stop."

Dracula's smirk became ten times darker and she didn't have to face him to know it.

"That's right… you'd rather have me seduce you," he purred, closing in on the minimal amount of space between them, his hands resting on her shoulders before smoothing slowly down her arms, his chest lightly brushing against her back. Hera consciously refused to allow herself to enjoy this closeness, and she exhaled her annoyance with pointed emphasis as she tugged herself out of his grip before he got too friendly.

"Oh for God's sake, knock it off," she shot, and she moved around him to walk away, but he snatched her arm, forcing her to stop and face him.

"You _will_ surrender to me, Miss Garret," he proclaimed, staring into her eyes. "Whether you like it or not, one day you will. You'll want to… and _nothing_ will stop it."

She tore herself free from his hold, sending him a malicious look.

"You're that sure of yourself? Of your power and influence over me?" She exerted an exaggerated laugh. "Excuse me Count, but my will is stronger than you think."

"Where you're concerned, Miss Garret, yes. I am that sure of myself," he answered simply. "There will come a time, my dear, when you will do _whatever_ I command."

The look in his eyes sent a strong, involuntary shudder through her body. She could feel him seducing her with just his eyes, lightly clawing at her defenses, but she quickly shoved him out of her head, refusing him twice now.

Her refusal to be more accommodating was starting to irritate him.

"In your dreams, bastard," she hissed. "I'd sooner drive a stake through your heart than so much as kiss you out of my own free will! No matter how much you try to woo me into liking you or growing fond of you, I will fight you with my every breath! Did you honestly think I would so easily forgive or forget what you did to me? Let alone what you've done to Anna, or Velkan, or even _Boris_?"

"I'd highly recommend you keep the Valerious' out of this," he suggested with a noted hardness in his voice.

"Doesn't matter anyway," she continued. "I've already figured out your plans for me. The only reason why you insisted I stay here is so you could persuade me swear allegiance to you, to abandon my friends, seducing me if you have to. Well allow me to inform you Count – you are wasting your time!"

Dracula's smile never wavered during her little speech.

In fact, it only widened as his expression continued to grow more mischievous.

"I accept your challenge," came his response, and Hera opened her mouth to speak when she stopped, evidently confused.

"Wait, what? I didn't challenge-"

"Ah, but you did, Miss Garret. You said you'd sooner drive a stake through my heart than so much as kiss me out of your own free will. I'd like to test that theory."

"Well, for starters, it's not a theory. It's a fact."

"Regardless, I'd like to put it to the test," he purred richly, advancing once more. "Let's see how long you last, shall we? The moment you make a move and kiss me first, and out of your own free will, I will grant you one request – minus your freedom or permitting you to see Prince Velkan," he added. "Now then, if I, for example, kiss you first and you kiss me back, that doesn't count because I advanced first…"

"This isn't what I wanted," she grumbled to herself, her hand over her face.

Dracula gently removed her hand and took her chin, leading her eyes to look into his.

"But if you advance first, then the game is over."

Hera rolled her eyes.

"I'm not playing your stupid game, Dracula. I'm not your toy. You want to manipulate someone? Your brides are undoubtedly somewhere in this house! Why can't you go bother them?"

"But why would I want to manipulate someone who already submits so willingly, when the mortal who resists me at every turn would be so much more amusing?" he hummed.

His arm snaked around her waist as he pulled her close, despite her efforts to push him away. He was too strong.

"You are going to be living here for the next seven months, Miss Garret. Why not have some fun? Or are you not up to the challenge?" he husked, his eyes illuminating as he ensnared a small piece of her mind.

Hera couldn't seem to tear herself from his gaze, although she knew what he was up to. But the lulling, sensuous voice in her head bade her to look and she could not resist, no matter how much her better judgment screamed at her. That black velvet voice was calling her name in her mind, and she felt dizzy as his gaze seduced her. His lips looked so delicious right now. His body against hers made her weak. Those eyes—the intensity in them when he looked at her. She could still remember the last time he had kissed her, _really_ kissed her… how she had kissed him back as if there were no tomorrow.

She wanted it now…

Or did she?

"But what if you're messing with my head?" came the slightly breath-taken query and he watched with amusement as her tongue moistened her lips expectantly.

Sometimes, it was almost too easy.

But he was playing hard on her. He'd have to lighten up a bit to make this challenge even remotely entertaining. Watching her resist was always amusing.

"My dear, if you kiss me out of your own free will, only then does it count," he whispered. "When that happens, it will be because you want to… because you feel something—that yearning inside of you, deep in the center of your womb as your insides turn to honey and that delicious flower between your thighs blooms and grows wet until you're throbbing with need."

A shuddered breath escaped Hera's lips and the vampire smiled, pleased with the flush that appeared in her cheeks.

"I won't have any part in your surrender, my little spitfire. It'll be all you…." and he brushed the tip of his nose against hers.

He saw the wanton need in her eyes as their lips inched closer toward one another's, but he could also see her battle of resistance. Hera moved her lips closer to his, the warmth of her breath taunting his mouth, but despite his slippery words and silver tongue, she suddenly began to pull her head away.

She was stronger than he thought.

So, before deciding to allow her her freewill back, he brushed his lips against hers in a very soft, tantalizing kiss before releasing her mind.

"I can't wait for you to give in," he hummed as she abruptly realized her mind was her own again.

Infuriated with his impertinence, she raised her hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist mid-flight. A bemused grin curved his lips.

"Now then, to make this challenge official," and he took one of his nails and made a long cut in the palm of her hand, ignoring the sound of her protests. "And so I can know where you are at all times… just as a precaution," he added, inflicting a wound on his own palm before taking her hand in his and then shaking hers firmly while forcing the blood to mix.

The mortal let out a cry of surprise. The vampire's cold blood rubbed against her stinging palm before shooting into her hand, up her arm, over her shoulder and down to her heart where it was then pushed throughout her entire body.

When the vampire released her, Hera was suddenly aware of him inside of her. His presence – both in the room and in her mind – was so much more profound than it had ever been before, and though the joining of their blood did not bind them together permanently, she could feel the difference instantly.

What had he done?

The woman never had a proper chance to ask, as the Count was now heading toward the exit.

"Enjoy your evening, Miss Garret," he called out as he retreated gracefully from the room, leaving her there, stunned and slightly violated.

Several colorful phrases raced through her head as he entered the hall and he turned around, sending her a disapproving look.

"And I'd recommend taking better care of your thoughts, my dear. I don't care how angry you are, I do not approve of such language in my presence, let alone in my house."

As if she had been unexpectedly assaulted by a sneaker wave, it suddenly dawned on Hera what Count Dracula had just done. He hadn't just mixed their blood, but he had invaded her somehow, the strengthened connection allowing him to hear her thoughts more clearly and with less effort on his part. This inexcusable defilement of her privacy enraged her as she watched him stalk triumphantly out of the room.

She glared venomously at the door after it had shut behind him, before she screamed the words, "I hate you," at the top of her lungs, only to have his voice pop into her head.

 _Not for long_ , it sang and she immediately thrust him out, the strength of the push surprising even him.

She'd only be able to keep him out if she concentrated on it; however, if ever her mind was on something else, he would be allowed access to it, whether she liked it or not. That realization in itself caused Hera, who had been under enough emotional strain as it was, to fall to her knees in hopeless despair and cry simply out of frustration.

 _This_ was her new reality, and oh, how she wished she could escape it.


	19. A Very Special Room

**So, fun fact: the original version of this chapter and the next were ACTUALLY all one chapter - but, obviously, I split them up. The original plan was to do a chapter at a time, but as I mentioned in my last author's note, I want this story out of my hair so I can work on my next project ;) So you're getting two chapters today!**

 **A TREMENDOUS thank you to those who recently reviewed -** Scarlet Empress **,** Madam Silver **,** 12345678910 **,** the invisible reader **,** She-Devil Red **,** MercyShadow **,** alexc1209 **,** Bloodsired **,** RegencyPoet **,** summerofth1975 **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** ShadowSpade **,** jenny **, and** Layla Azeen **. Sadly, we fan fiction writers don't make any money, but your loyalty and feedback are wonderful compensation. Though seriously, if I could get paid money to write Dracula-centric fan fics, I would probably quit my job. And while I'm dreaming...**

 **Forgive any errors you may find. I did comb through these chapters, but I may have overlooked something. It happens.**

* * *

 **XIX**

 _ **A Very Special Room**_

It required a day or two locked away in her room for Hera to take up exploring again.

Ever since her rather disastrous first evening in Castle Dracula – a meeting that had really only lasted for perhaps ten minutes tops – the young mortal's spirits had taken a rather drastic downward turn. Her only true sense of privacy—her mind—had been tampered with.

Although Dracula later tried to explain that his rather rash actions had been for her own protection as the castle was vast and filled with hidden dangers, the man refused to properly apologize for his conduct and Hera made sure he suffered most thoroughly for it.

Initially, she had had every intention of letting the incident go after a few days, but every night, without fail, she would catch him attempting to rummage through her head when she wasn't paying attention and the evident disregard for her privacy was inexcusable on all counts. It certainly didn't help that a small part of the vampire took a hint of sadistic enjoyment out of riling the young woman up, and it was that unapologetic pleasure that infuriated Hera more than anything else.

If Count Dracula had shown an iota of remorse, she could have eased up on the loathing - she had always prided herself on being rather forgiving and understanding after all - but every night was the same and the irritation that always followed thwarted any of her hopes of actually enjoying her stay.

It soon became very evident that the only sure way to keep the Count out of her head and from rummaging at will through her thoughts was to actively concentrate on shutting him out – which could only be accomplished by doing absolutely nothing and focusing nearly every ounce of her energy on keeping that mental wall up.

The task, though generally successful, was exhausting work.

Like the last several nights, tonight didn't seem much different. Hera had gotten into the routine of wandering the halls rather aimlessly throughout the duration of her waking hours and she found that the place, though beautiful, was oppressive. Castle Dracula seemed to exist in a state of perpetual darkness, and though it had its appeal, the young woman had begun missing the light in ways she had never thought possible.

There was a great deal to explore, however, and for the mindless diversion she was grateful.

She had found the armory, Dracula's private office, a dark and empty looking ballroom that she had peeked her head into before moving on, the brides' separate bedchambers and their private lounge. There was also a study, a parlor, another lounge, a sitting room, and the rest were all guest bedrooms – rarely, if ever, used from the looks of it. But there were plenty of nooks and crannies that were perfect for keeping out of sight.

Hera's favorite place to hide wasn't a room, but rather a hallway in the more easterly portion of the north tower that was consistently quiet, dark, and virtually abandoned. It was a long corridor lined with large windows that went from floor to ceiling, all draped with a ghostly white material that would billow and dance in the cool draft that made its way through.

Every night, after making her rounds, she'd come up to this passage, opening a window or two for ventilation, and then she'd sit on the cold stone floor, her head resting back against the wall. She'd stare blankly out at the dark, mountainous landscape for hours, occasionally listening to the music on her iPod, careful to make certain that her thoughts were on nothing in particular.

She was rarely ever disturbed in this part of the house, only catching the sound of a servant passing by at the far end of the hall; or she'd feel Dracula trying to locate her through their "bond", but that was about all the contact she received.

Every day passed by and it didn't take much time at all for her to lose track of just how long she had been here, not that it mattered in her mind.

Each new evening found Hera increasingly apathetic, solitary, and melancholic.

She quickly grew accustomed to spending her evenings alone, and truth be told, though she was more of an introvert at heart, by her sixth night she found herself craving some kind of connection with another human – even if it was Dracula, although she was still much too stubborn to initiate any kind of conversation with the man.

Although her anger had all but vanished when it came to the vampire, the woman had it in her to hold a grudge where he was concerned and until he made an effort to be less deplorable in her mind, she was determined to sit in the dark alone. Her plan to get back at him by means of silent treatment had been fairly successful thus far, but it was also taking a toll on her well-being.

Because of the lack of distraction, Hera's homesickness had only gotten worse and the depression that came with the self-imposed solitary confinement had begun to deteriorate her health – both physically and mentally. But if Hera was anything, she was willful, which left her to continue on like this for the two and a half weeks that followed.

One evening in particular found her seated alone in the hall of windows as she usually was, eyes closed, budded headphones plugged into hear ears, the back of her head resting against the wall as she allowed the cold breeze from the open window and the beautiful instrumental music to caress her senses.

Temporarily distracted by the hypnotic lull of the music, Hera was completely unaware that she was being observed by a figure lingering in the shadows, the liquid blue of the onlooker's irises swirling like a melted sapphire and silver inferno, breathtaking, spellbinding… if only she'd look into them.

No, Hera stubbornly refused to look into the eyes of the Count every time they crossed paths - and rightfully so. Although her tenacious will was frustrating on its own, Dracula couldn't believe that his little stunt had backfired on him so spectacularly, that he was essentially thwarting his own plans. That mild irritation aside, the sadness that was presently radiating off of the woman left him to be devoured by his own bought of uncharacteristic remorse. He was unaccustomed to the sensation and he found that he did not care for it in the slightest.

He couldn't bear watching this mortal who had had so much fire in her just days ago now wasting away in this empty hall, alone night after night, never uttering a word to anyone or anything, always listening to her music.

Dracula didn't have the heart to disturb her, understanding that his presence would only incite her anger, so he contented himself in watching her, occasionally trying to probe her mind in an effort to see how he could help her, but when she felt him, she'd immediately put her mental wall up. It was like having a door effectively slammed into his face until all he could hear were the muted hums and sounds of her thoughts – never anything coherent.

She was indignant and bold, this one, and though he knew he could very easily shove himself into her mind and compel her to be agreeable, such a course of action was a bit lower than he was willing to stoop.

But Dracula hated seeing her like this – despondent, silent, isolated, and he refused to let it go on for one more night.

He needed to get her distracted, to open up again as she had when they had first met… before Velkan had come into the picture and spoiled everything. But what to do? Not really wishing to linger in the shadows of the hall anymore, and knowing all too well that she wouldn't move from her spot until the sun rose, he decided to head towards his office where he could try to contrive some sort of plan.

Hera's eyes scanned the night sky idly as music continued to play in her ears, a moving cello concerto saturating her in a strange but elegant kind of sorrow. The edges of the light drapes floated effortlessly in the breeze like ghosts as the wind from the open windows blew them about, the air chilling the mortal's flesh, though she hardly cared.

She hardly cared much for anything anymore.

It had been almost three weeks since the Count had created that "bond" between them, and it exasperated her each time he tried to help himself to her inner most thoughts. She was growing weary of this battle, the one she was certain she was going to lose eventually. She'd be driven to exhaustion soon enough, and then he'd have full reign over her mind and her will and there was no telling what he'd do, how he'd take advantage her again.

Whether mentally or physically, he'd do it all the same - she was convinced of this.

Hera was certain that he didn't care. Dracula, after all, felt nothing. At least, that's what she was presently led to assume.

The woman silently cursed the Count's name for the umpteenth time since her arrival before folding her arms underneath her chest, a scowl furrowing her brow as she continued to stare out at the night, completely unaware that someone was approaching. That is, until they were perhaps a few feet from her.

Marishka had apparently come to visit.

The bride moved silently down the hall and sat beside Hera on the floor, never uttering a word. The blonde bent her knees so she could rest her arms lazily on top of them, her thumbs fiddling mindlessly as the two remained in mutual silence, until Marishka couldn't bear it anymore.

"How much longer do you plan on wallowing up here by yourself?" the bride asked, trying not to sound too interested.

Hera smirked, though she made sure to keep her eyes focused on the floor in front of her.

"Until I can think of something better with which to occupy my time that doesn't involve me having to guard my mind twenty-four-seven."

Marishka glanced over at mortal, a thoughtful smile curving the woman's beautifully full lips. Hera often wondered why Dracula spent so much time on her when three of the most gorgeous women she had ever seen were willingly at his bidding.

It made absolutely no sense.

"You mustn't be so hard on the master," Marishka defended. "What he did truly was for the best."

"You think virtually taking my free will away and having unrestricted access to my thoughts is for the best?" Hera asked, sending the vampire a look of incredulity. But then she sighed in annoyance, looking away. "What would you know? You don't even have much of a free will anymore, do you? You gave that up centuries ago when you let him enslave you. Did you even put up a fight, Marishka?" she asked rather harshly. "Did any of you? Or did you all just give in without thinking about it? The sex can't be _that_ good."

Marishka easily could have taken offence at Hera's unjustified hostility, but she remained passive as she let the human vent a little. Heaven knew how much she needed it.

"None of us had much to lose, except our lives which were nothing of note to begin with. Besides, we still think and act for ourselves. It's just our will and his tend to align more frequently than say yours does."

Hera grumbled her disapproval under her breath, but said little more to counter Marishka's explanation. And when the silence threatened to reign once more, the vampire gracefully rose to her feet, making no effort to hide her impatience.

"So, are you just going to sit here for the next seven months, or what?"

The mortal looked up at her.

"There's nothing better to do around here," she remarked, staring back down at the ground. "If I get distracted, your master will start toying with me again." She rubbed her face, suddenly aware of just how tired she was. "I swear, there are so many things wrong with this entire situation."

"I don't see why you hate it so much," Marishka replied candidly, placing her hands on her hips. "Most of us would kill to have even a fraction of the attention he's giving you."

Hera grimaced.

"I'd be more than happy to trade places with you."

The vampire stared down at the pathetic, sulking mortal and she cursed under her breath as she grabbed hold of Hera's arm and pulled her to her feet, steering her down the hall.

"Oh for the devil's sake, I can't stand you acting like this," the bride exclaimed as she led Hera out of the corridor and towards the stairs.

"Where are you taking me?"

"I'm going to show you something," the vampire explained as they rushed down the stairs and towards a specific hall, one that Hera hadn't really explored much of. The bride continued to walk at a brisk pace, unfazed by how fast she was moving. Hera was almost at a jog trying to keep up with her.

"Where are we going?"

Suddenly they stopped in front of a pair of large double doors and Marishka finally let go of Hera's wrist.

"Where are we?"

"You ask a lot of questions," the bride replied, pushing the doors open and entering the room, vanishing into the thick darkness. Hera stood in the doorway, the dim light from the hall offering little assistance in deciphering where Marishka had led her.

"I usually only ask two: what are we dealing with and how do I kill it?" she mumbled to herself, chuckling at the thought of Van Helsing saying that to Anna.

Now _there_ was a person she couldn't wait to meet. If she ever got out of here.

Marishka had heard her comment however because she replied with a confused, "What?" To this, Hera only smiled, slowly entering the room, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

"Nothing."

From what she could tell, the room was enormous… a ballroom perhaps? But the ballroom was on the other side of the fortress? So what was this? _A spare_?

Moonlight poured into the room as Marishka pulled back the enormous drapes to the windows that covered the entire far wall, floor to ceiling, basking the space in an enchanting glow.

This was indeed a ballroom, with towering walls, a massive chandelier, and the most beautiful polished marble floor. It seemed as though Hera were standing on a mirror, her reflection clear and detailed at her feet. The ceiling was a mural of the night sky with clouds, stars, and the moon in the middle with the chandelier hanging from its center. People clothed in what appeared to be gauze and silks, the colors of the night, were also painted on the ceiling; some dancing while others made love on a bed of clouds. It was one of the most beautiful and sensual paintings Hera had ever laid eyes on.

The high paned windows were vast, allowing the glorious view outside to nearly consume her. The sky seemed so endless from where she stood. There were no mountains… just stars that went on for days.

"What do you think?" she heard Marishka ask from beside her and Hera looked over to see that the vampire had joined her.

"It's a very handsome room," she said. "But it's just another ballroom. What makes this one so special?"

Marishka had a hint of mischievousness sparkling in her eyes as she moved over to the only piece of furniture in the room: a gorgeously sleek, black grand piano which sat almost conspicuously in the center of the room.

"Don't you feel it?" the bride asked the human, a curious purr in her voice.

"Feel what?"

Marishka didn't need to answer because almost immediately Hera became aware of what she had been referring to.

It almost felt like a presence, but not of a person. It was strangely heavy, yet curiously light. She could feel it moving throughout the room, a force that seemed to saturate the walls and the floor, soaking into her skin, slowly overpowering her senses until she could almost feel at one with the chamber itself, as if _she_ was suddenly a driving force, something that could control it.

"There's a special magic in this room," Marishka explained, answering Hera's unasked questions.

"What do you mean?" Hera inquired, turning to face the vampire who now stood beside the piano, having lifted the fallboard, revealing eighty-eight beautiful black and white ivory keys.

Hera could feel her fingers itching to touch the piano. She hadn't played a thing in months and though she was eternally grateful for the music on her iPod, she ached to create something of her own.

"Why don't you see for yourself," Marishka offered, stepping aside and motioning for Hera to take a seat on the plush velvet upholstered bench.

Hera felt undeniably drawn to the instrument, like a moth to a flame – as clichéd as the comparison was – and she allowed herself to move over the instrument without a second thought, taking a seat at the beautiful piano. Her fingers ran lovingly over the keys, but never pushed hard enough for the hammers to hit the strings.

This entire situation almost felt too good to be true and she suddenly became unsure… timid… anxious.

"What do I do?"

"I don't know. Play something."

Hera rested the fingers of her right hand onto the keys, instinctively placing them into the C major chord position. She played the chord and the moment she did, something changed within the room. The atmosphere became lighter, warmer. That feeling swelled deep within her and she situated her left hand on the keys now to join the right and she played a full broken C major chord.

The music floated and Hera noticed the lights of the chandelier had begun to flicker, but as soon as the music stopped, the lights died away. Hera glanced up at Marishka with surprise and the vampire remained silent, a soft curve in her lips as she watched the dead, lifeless look that had dulled Hera's eyes for the past few weeks slowly melt away.

The human began to play chords, all in a major key, each one broken and beautiful, her fingers flying as if it were second nature. Life seemed to flood the room, and Hera could have sworn that the walls and ceiling of the chamber were disappearing.

Thick cumulus clouds now covered the dance floor. The chandelier disappeared until it took on the appearance of the sun as the walls and ceiling melted away into a fantastic blue. Hera stopped playing and just stared at the scene her simple music had created. She had been thinking about the sky and the sun as she had played and it had appeared, right before her eyes.

Hera looked over at Marishka who was staring up at the "sun" in a very serene manner.

"I have not seen the light of the day in over three centuries," the bride whispered softly. "I forgot how beautiful it was."

The prospect slowly began to melt away and soon the clouds, sky, and sun had vanished, and the two women found themselves in the dark ballroom once more.

Hera could feel her emotions getting the better of her as a renewed sense of hope overwhelmed her system. For the first time in what felt like an age, she felt pure, unadulterated joy that was borderline giddiness and it took everything in her to keep from bursting into tears.

Oh, she could have kissed Marishka!

"What do you think?" the bride asked, eager for Hera's response. The mortal looked up at the vampire and smiled the most genuine smile she had had in what felt like a long, _long_ time.

"I think I'm going to be in here for a while," she laughed lightly.

Marishka chuckled and leaned up against the piano as Hera began to play random chords again, the blue sky and clouds reappearing in the room once more. The scene began to move with the music as if a powerful wind were pushing it along. The melody turned from heavenly, to dark, and the clouds and sky matched the composition, becoming black and tumultuous.

Hera played a powerful minor chord and lightning struck, illuminating the now violently dark sky. With more minor keys in the lower octaves, thunder began to roll and lightning cracked, lighting up the room which had turned into a stormy sky of purple, blue, and black. The music became darker, heavier, with a beat that expressed that something was building… advancing.

The clouds turned into the sea as the ceiling became the sky above and as Hera played, the storm of her imagination erupted within the room for all to see. Rain pummeled the roaring waves, lightning cracked and thunder exploded in the clouds and Marishka, seated on the bench beside human, watched Hera's imagination take shape through her music.

It was a wonder to behold.

Soon the storm on the piano died away and the waves calmed to stillness as the ocean became a sea of glass, the sunset in the distance, and as the music faded, so did the vision, and both women were left in the room once more, the moon shining through the window.


	20. Music Lessons & Pushing Buttons

**FYI to my veteran readers - a fair amount of the following was rewritten. Although the ideas are very much the same as the original, the actual writing has changed somewhat. Maybe you'll be able to tell, maybe not, but oh how I love the idea of Hera giving Marishka a music history lesson.**

 **Let me know what you thought of the chapter when you finish. I'm curious to hear your feedback/comments! Forgive any errors I may have missed and enjoy!**

* * *

 **XX**

 _ **Music Lessons & Pushing Buttons**_

Marishka turned and looked over at Hera with unabashed amazement.

"I've never heard anyone play like that," she exclaimed. "Not even the masters themselves."

Hera blushed.

Here was Marishka, one of Dracula's brides, and she was in awe of her? It was a beautiful compliment.

"You are very talented," the vampire added with genuine earnestness.

"Thank you," Hera answered humbly. "I forgot how much I missed playing. I used to do it all the time before I wound up here. Music has always been my life – well, outside of books, I suppose."

"Yes. The master has expressed his admiration for the extent of your knowledge. It would appear you're talented in music as well. Tell me Hera, is there anything you _can't_ do?"

"Plenty of things," the mortal said with laughter in her eyes. "I can't dance for the life of me. I have two left feet," and Marishka smiled sympathetically. "I can't draw or paint or sculpt or anything artistic like that. I'm not very athletic either, and I'm absolutely no good at fencing."

"So you're really not a duelist, then?" the bride teased.

"Definitely not. Although I'm a fairly decent shot, and I've been told I have a mean right hook."

"Do you play anything else besides the piano?"

"I can play some string instruments – the cello and the violin. But the piano is my passion."

"Can you sing at all?" Marishka asked.

Hera stared back down at the keys of the piano, a sheepish grin curving her lips as her modesty blossomed in her cheeks.

"A little and not very well at all, if you ask me. I'm no pop star or opera singer, though I can certainly appreciate those with the talent."

"I'm sorry, a pop star?" the vampire asked curiously. "What's that?"

Hera suddenly realized what she had said and she laughed.

"Never mind. Let's just say music in the future is _very_ different from the music of today."

"What's it like?" Marishka inquired with genuine interest.

"Well, let's see… we're reaching the end of the nineteenth century which means jazz hasn't become much of a thing yet," she thought aloud, and it was here when an idea popped into her head and her smile became a little mischievous. "So the music you're used to listening to is stuff like this," and she started to play an impromptu melody of Beethoven, Haydn, Bach, Dvořák, and Tchaikovsky. When Marishka nodded, confirming that she recognized the beautiful and very emotive classical music, Hera continued.

"Well, in the next century, we start to get something called jazz," and she began to play a melody of Joplin's "The Entertainer" and a handful of songs made popular by Louis Armstrong – tunes like "All of Me", "Hello, Dolly", "Mack the Knife" and "It's a Wonderful World." In fact, as she played those particular tunes, the memories in Hera's head allowed Marishka the rare opportunity to hear old Satchmo play and sing himself, that iconic trumpet echoing throughout the otherwise empty room.

The bride, though unaccustomed to the sound, appeared to like what she heard and Hera even caught her tapping her feet to the rhythm. When Hera finished, Marishka sent her an approving smile.

"It's catchy."

"It is, isn't it? There were naturally offshoots, or subgenres, like the blues, and country music sort of sprouted from that as well. And then there came genres like funk and one of my personal favorites – rock music."

"Rock? You mean like a stone?" Marishka inquired, clearly confused.

Hera had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

Never could she have imagined having the opportunity to explain the evolution of music to a vampire. Well, then again, she never saw herself living in Castle Dracula or befriending his brides or being perused by the Count himself. Nobody could have foreseen any of this.

"If I remember my musical history correctly, rock music shows up in the late 1940s, early 50s, I think, in America. It used to be better known as 'rock and roll' – the name was kind of a sexual analogy, as the conservatives of the time felt the music with its beat encouraged promiscuity. Although that's really just one theory behind the name."

"What does it sound like?"

Hera thought about it for a moment, trying to decide what song to play on the piano that would best illustrate what she was talking about. When the right tune popped into her head, Marishka watched with interest as the human seated beside her smiled to herself before banging out the King's "That's All Right", and as she played, the sound of Elvis' voice came into the room.

The memory and emotion behind this song appeared particularly strong because the power of Hera's imagination coupled with the magic of the room and the music allowed an almost ghostly manifestation of the singer to appear, guitar in hand, his body swaying to the beat. Marishka noted this and stood up, deeply fascinated not only by the music, but also by the man's clothes, his hair, his voice, and even his gyrating hips.

"I like this one!" the bride exclaimed, looking back at Hera, who had started to play another tune of the King's – "Burning Love."

As the imaginary Elvis Presley serenaded the thoroughly entertained Marishka, Hera watched on, amused by the bride's enthusiasm, but also kind of moved in a way. Never in her life could she have imagined that she'd have the chance to accompany the likes of Elvis Presley – even if he had been conjured up through her imagination and that unexplainable power that coursed through the room.

For the first time in days, she allowed herself to let loose a little, her fingers flying over the keys with great skill and precision and the more passion that poured from her finger tips, the more vibrant the room seemed to become, as the apparition of Elvis was soon joined by an entire band.

Unbeknownst to Hera who had lost herself to the music and the joy that was now radiating from her being, a specific set of ears picked up on the peculiar music. Dracula had been in his office, pouring over a set of notes that Doctor Frankenstein had left behind, but his attention to the nearly indecipherable scribbles came to a grinding halt when the sound of drums, guitar, and Hera pounding away on the piano reached his ears – and the sound of some unknown man singing?

Dracula stood from his desk slowly as he reached out with his mind for Hera and he noticed that she and Marishka were in the enchanted ballroom. Curiosity got the better of him and he quietly slipped out of his study and made his way over to that part of the house. What he found was what looked like a party unlike anything he had ever seen before in his four-hundred years of experience.

There was a dark-haired man with a guitar in his hands, his hips swaying in a way that was almost vulgar, a highly energized band accompanying him. Marishka appeared to be dancing in front of the musicians and Hera was seated at the piano, rocking out over the keys. He couldn't recall a time he had seen her so energetic and unwilling to break the spell, he slipped into the shadows of the room so he could investigate further.

When the song was over, Marishka clapped her hands excitedly in Hera's direction, a brilliant smile on her face.

"That was fantastic!" the bride exclaimed. "I like this music – it's kind of addictive," and she started to snap her fingers to the beat as she made her way back over to the piano, humming. "Is all the music from your time like this?"

"No – music evolves a great deal in the future, especially the rock genre. Next thing you know, you're getting subgenres like glam rock, metal, punk, gothic, power metal, symphonic metal, grunge, indie, black metal, hip-hop, R&B… the possibilities are virtually endless. Especially as the technologies advance."

"That sounds so exhausting," Marishka replied, leaning against the piano. "I don't know how you keep up with all of that."

Hera chuckled, running her fingers mindlessly over the keys, playing whatever popped into her head, just grateful to have the feeling of the cool and slick ivory underneath her fingertips once more. It was like being home.

"It does seem a bit overwhelming, doesn't it? Having so many options – but people's tastes are so different and so diverse and music speaks to everyone in such unusual ways. In my time, it's like there's a genre for everyone," and as Hera continued to play, that mist from before began to flood the floor again, the room painted in soft hues that illustrated her present sense of serenity.

"Music is like water, like the air we breathe, and the blood that runs through our veins. It's one of the few things that keeps humanity united – we can't live without it."

All Marishka was able to utter was a sound of profound amazement as she visibly struggled to comprehend the idea of those different forms of music, when she had been so certain until just a few moments ago that the classics from the masters and the occasional folk was all she'd ever need.

The bride listened to Hera play for a little while, enjoying the music that resonated in the belly of the piano, a comfortable silence lingering between the two of them as Marishka digested Hera's miniature music history lesson.

"Are there any undying songs in your time? Songs that you think will last through the centuries?"

Hera mulled that over for a moment as she ceased her playing, her hands resting in her lap as she thought it over.

"I'm not sure – timelessness is such a subjective concept. But I suppose there are some songs that are covered repeatedly, or completely made-over."

"Do you have any favorites?" Marishka asked, clearly eager for more.

Hera thought about it and then she noticed the twinkling of the beautiful yellow diamonds in the bride's necklace and earrings and it gave her an idea. There was something about Marishka, something about her face – or maybe it was her hair or the look in her eyes. But the most perfect song popped into Hera's head and once it was there, she couldn't seem to get it out and the most impish grin curved her lips, a sly glint in her eyes.

"Actually, there's one I've always been rather fond of," the mortal confessed and she started to play a set of chords, repeating them so it sounded like a march as she introduced the song. "There's this woman in the twentieth century – a beautiful blonde who turns the world upside down and there's one particular song of hers I've always liked."

"Who was she?"

"Marilyn Monroe," Hera explained, motioning with her eyes to the swirling mist behind Marishka. The bride turned to see the mist building and billowing until it started to take the shape of a curvaceous woman with short blonde hair, an exquisite pink gown, and the most stunning jewels the vampire had ever seen.

"She's beautiful," the bride said with a sigh of envy.

"She is, isn't she?" Hera agreed.

"What song does she sing?"

Hera smirked and started to sing quietly to herself while the illusion of Marilyn's voice, accompanied by a full orchestra, overshadowed the human.

But Dracula could hear her and there was something foreign, devious, and exciting in the mortal's voice that he had never witnessed before. Though the striking apparition was quite the thing to behold, it was Hera he couldn't seem to keep his eyes off of. She had a delightful fire in her expression as her imagination coupled with the magic of the room started to manipulate the mist as numerous young men dressed in black formal wear started to dance around the imaginary Marilyn.

" _The French are glad to die for love_ … _They delight in fight duels._ _But I prefer a man who lives, and gives expensive jewels._ "

Hera looked up from the piano to see the famous scene from "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes" had taken over the ballroom and Marishka watched in breathless wonder as one of the most famous females of the twentieth century performed one of Hera's favorite songs – almost 65 years before it would ever be released. The woman played and sang along, bopping her head to the music as she remained blissfully unaware that Dracula was taking in her every movement.

It was after the first verse that the atmosphere began to change and both Marishka and the Count noted it immediately as the visions of Marilyn melted away and a heavy drum began to beat somewhere in the mist.

"What's this?" the bride inquired.

"Forty-eight years after this version of the song was released, it gets redone – updated, modernized…"

The drum began to beat louder and harder, pounding out a rhythm that was very foreign to the vampires, soon accompanied by the blaring of a trumpet. The scene had changed from a plain red backdrop to a lavish set of something Marishka couldn't have even begun to fathom – a gentlemen's nightclub for the elite, set in the backdrop of Paris. The Moulin Rouge.

From the recesses of Hera's overactive imagination came an entirely different world – a world of light, luxury, music, and vice unlike anything either Marishka or Dracula had experienced before. There were men, _hundreds_ of them everywhere, dressed in expensive tuxedos and top hats, women donning provocative costumes and gowns, others in hardly anything at all.

And though still seated at the piano, Hera was in the center of it all, suddenly dressed in a silvery black, diamond studded corseted bodice, black nylons clipped with garters. The outfit was completed with a pair of black satin gloves and a velvety top hat, the mortal's luxurious mass of hair cascading down her partially exposed back and over her bare shoulders in rich, luscious curls.

Marishka had never seen this side of Hera before… and neither had the Count, who remained hidden in the shadows, watching the woman's imagination come to life.

The mortal had stood up from her seat at the bench, her fingers masterfully dancing over the keys as she bounced her head to the music, surrounded by dozens of imaginary gentlemen who were enraptured as she played. She was smiling flirtatiously at them, brazenly shaking her hips, a fire in her eyes and in her voice as she shouted out the various diamond companies – Tiffany's, Cartier, Black Starr, and Frost Gorham – all the while the brass section from the orchestra blared in accompaniment.

She then straightened up from the piano and pointed over at the vampire bride, face positively radiant.

"Talk to me, Marishka! Tell me all about it!" Hera shouted and she made her way over to the woman and grabbed her hand as she continued to sing the rest of the song.

Dracula looked on, thoroughly entertained by the spectacle.

He loved the expression in Hera's eyes, her liveliness and playfulness as she climbed up onto the lid of the piano and danced about provocatively as if she were the star of some illicit show. He silently moved farther into the room, blending in with the other gentlemen, observing the woman with increasing interest – and a hunger that only continued to grow.

In that moment, he would have killed a hundred men to have her look at him in the way she was looking at the figments of her imagination.

Dracula couldn't quite understand why he wanted her attention so badly, but he did. He craved it. Even when Hera was teasing the imaginary men, smacking her lips together to make a kissing sound before strutting away as if they were nothing – Dracula wanted _that_. He wanted her to hold him in her grasp, to tease him just as he constantly teased her. The Count yearned for the playful banter, the fight for dominance, and the longer he looked on, the more voracious he became.

Marishka and Hera sang the song at the top of their lungs, thoroughly enjoying themselves as they danced about, soaking in the attention of the amorous make-believe crowd and as the song began to near its end, that's when Dracula decided to move in closer to them – not because he desired to reveal himself, but because he could do nothing else.

He was like a helpless piece of graphite, and Hera was the magnet.

As he neared the piano, the spell slowly began to break, though Hera was blissfully unaware as she belted out the last part:

"' _Cause that's when those louses go back to their spouses! Diamonds… are a… girl's… best…"_

Hera made a move to jump off the piano and into the sea of men with waiting hands, all eager to catch her, but the world seemed to be moving in slow motion as she realized the spell was rapidly breaking and instead of a mob of attractive, well-dressed suitors, she flew straight into the waiting arms of the one man she had not expected to be there.

The instant her eyes met Dracula's, the illusion vanished and as Marishka finished off the song with a loud and belted "friend", Hera landed in the Count's arms.

Still dressed in her _Moulin Rouge_ -esque inspired outfit, Hera was paralyzed with shock as Dracula held her in his arms, the smirk on his face unrepentant.

"Why Miss Garret, you're so forward," he teased.

That seemed to snap her back into reality.

Hera shrieked, pushing herself out of Dracula's hold and backing away in mortification, making sure the piano stood between the two of them. The Count threw back his head and laughed heartily at her surprise as Marishka turned around to see that the vision was no more and they were back in the otherwise empty ballroom.

"Hera, what's the matter?" she asked curiously. "It's just the master."

Hera almost tripped over the bench of the piano in her attempt to get away from him and those flaming eyes that left her skin to burn.

Why was she still in this outfit?! Why wasn't she back in her regular clothes?! Everything else had returned to normal, why not her clothes too?

Her panicked mind came to a screeching halt when the look the Count gave her told her everything she needed to know.

Hera stared between the two vampires, practically hyperventilating as she tried to regain her composure, still in shock that Dracula was actually still standing there while she was dressed like this! THIS! _Of all things!_

At last, she looked over at Marishka, a reproachful expression in her eyes.

"You _knew_ this would happen!" she shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at the bride. "How could you do that to me? How could you distract me like that? You knew this would leave my mind open and unguarded! How could you Marishka? I _trusted_ you!"

"I had no idea he was watching, honest!" she insisted with the utmost sincerity and though Hera knew she meant it, she was too furious to let it go.

"She's telling the truth, Miss Garret. Marishka had nothing to do with this. I just happened to hear the two of you and came to see what was going on. I'll be honest though, I wasn't expecting a show," and he folded his arms under his chest, openly examining her with wolfish eyes. "I like the outfit… you should wear it more often."

Hera's glare was lethal, and with her embarrassment came a flood of the most obscene Romanian Dracula had heard – _ever_.

She swore violently at him, her accent and inflections flawless, each word articulated for maximum effect as she insulted not just him, but his ancestry and even his country. Dracula was not taken aback by her childish outburst – if anything, it relieved him on some level, entertained him even. He did his best to remain civil and unmoved as she unleashed a good number of weeks' worth of anger on him. But it was when she brought up the Turks and a slew of other foul obscenities, a nerve was struck and his smile turned into a scowl.

The Turks had always been a sore subject for him.

But she wasn't done yet. Words that he had never heard even the vilest of women utter were soon effortlessly rolling off of Hera's tongue and when she unexpectedly moved toward him, enraged and humiliated and ready to tear his face off with her bare hands, he pushed her back against the piano, towering over her.

"That is _quite_ enough!" he bellowed, his raised voice silencing Hera and causing Marishka to jump a little in surprise.

Hera, although in any other circumstance would be petrified at the thought of evoking his wrath, in this instance, she refused to be afraid of him. Her fury forbade such rationality. She glared boldly into his eyes, daring him to do his worst. He had already done it before.

Fortunately for her, this defiance of hers was something he still found relatively amusing, and the fact that their proximity had only increased reminded him of how fetching she looked in the outfit he was willing her to stay in.

Yes, that was his doing.

"Marishka, our guest and I need to have a little chat. Could you give us a moment alone?"

"Master-" the vampire began in Hera's defense, but the Count looked over at his bride, offering her somewhat of a reassuring smile.

"I give you my word, I will not harm her," he said, and she nodded, satisfied, obediently making her way towards the doors as the Count turned to look back at Hera. "… _much_ ," he finished for only Hera to hear and the two continued to stare at one another as Marishka sealed the two of them inside the room.

When the Count was certain all were out of hearing distance, his irises flamed a wild blue, an expression of which the mortal had never before seen. His lust was amazing and frightening to behold, but he had been right when he had accused her of enjoying his more carnal attentions to her. She knew she should have hated him for it, but there was a darkness in her that was getting harder to deny, a selfishness that thrilled at the thought of being desired by this man. She tried to fight it, tried to forbid herself to feel such things, but she couldn't help it. His countenance made her heart skip and her insides turned to liquid. Oh how she prayed he couldn't tell what his gaze was doing to her.

Hera swallowed bravely and managed to speak up.

"Much?" she questioned, giving him the best conspicuous look she could muster, despite the agonizing pulsations between her legs. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're smart, Miss Garret," he replied, his face inching towards hers just slightly as he continued to stare into her eyes. Her attention diverted towards his nearing lips before going back to his eyes again. "Figure it out for yourself," came the lustful growl as he brought her closer to his person, snaking an arm around her waist.

His willpower twisted and played with her mind, forcing her body to feel the urges she was frantically trying to suppress, painting her mind scarlet with erotic scenes bleeding from the pages of the most graphic of romance novels.

"Why am I still in this outfit?" she managed to ask, their proximity heightening the ache that was already naturally inside of her.

"You look _ravishing_ , spitfire," he purred, his lips teasing her, always threatening to move in for a kiss, but never quite getting close enough. "I enjoy looking at you," then came the confession he had not intended on giving her, and the look in her eyes reminded him of that.

"Really?" she asked, staring avidly at his mouth, absently moistening her lips. Her breath was hot and heavy as her heart continued to race, something in the back of her mind fully aware of the web he was tangling her in… she should have cared, but she didn't.

"Oh yes," he whispered, his voice a dark husk. "You've been avoiding me, Miss Garret. Are you really so angry with me?"

"Not as much as I was initially," she breathed, voice hitching when he wrapped her arm around his neck before smoothing his palm down and along her side. "I just wanted to make you suffer."

His chest vibrated in a rich chuckle as he leaned in a little closer.

"You naughty woman."

And then he was kissing her.

And God forgive her, she loved it.

Wanted it—and more.

All rational thought screamed at her, telling her that he was toying with her mind again, and she knew it was true. But a part of her didn't care.

His kisses seemed to erase all cares from her mind, and when he used his tongue, she went hot right down to her toes. Every coherent thought, every sensible argument that this was a bad idea, fled her mind.

The only thing that remained was the sensation, the way he made her feel: wanted beyond all reason.

There was more than just lust behind this onslaught; she could taste it. It was heady, and it was too powerful to resist. This man, this terrible, glorious, alarmingly powerful man made her feel wanted.

And she wanted him.

Had from the moment she set eyes on him… maybe even before, she was unsure.

But all sanity left her as she held him back, allowing him to plunder her mouth without protest.

She went to twist her arms around his neck, to bring him closer to her, but he grabbed her wrists and held them steadfast, not permitting her to touch him. Although the action took her by surprise, she still opened to him, kissing him with as much passion as she could muster, and with as much hunger as he was kissing her.

God, it was so good. So unbelievably good.

Dracula pushed her back against the piano and urging her to lean against it, her head tilted up and back as if she were drinking deep and his tongue dove in for more of her filling taste. There was something about her as he kissed her, something changing inside of him—his incentives, his motives. What had started out as a game was turning into a dangerous and bewildering desire to please someone other than himself.

He was so savage, so aggressive, so intense… and Hera melted beneath the man that he was with his powerful hands holding her weak and pitiful wrists, forbidding her to touch him the way she wanted to.

Why was he doing this?

Was he toying with her?

Did he mean any of it?

Her mind was awash in conflict and Dracula could sense it.

He hated her confusion, hated the silent drone she had been for the past few weeks. He didn't want to apologize for what he had done, because truth be told, he wasn't entirely sorry . But he didn't want her to hate him anymore. He wanted the fiery, defiant, intelligent Hera back, the one who was turning to liquid in his arms.

Her body was young; he could feel it as he pressed her harder to him. Her breasts were slightly firm and perky smashed against his chest. They had barely been touched or fondled from what he could sense. His hands itched to change that, but he resisted, knowing that he couldn't move too fast.

So to keep him sane, he sated himself by continuing to kiss her. He even nibbled her jaw every now and then, forcing her head farther back till her chin pointed to the sky and the most beautiful whimpers vibrated in her throat and escaped her pulsating lips.

"Are you still mad at me?" he breathed, asking her subconscious, not the defiant mortal who'd certainly lie to him.

"Not really," came her repeated response from earlier.

"Not really?" he clarified teasingly before kissing her again. "Hera, either you are, or you're not. Which is it?"

Hera suddenly licked the length of his throat before biting his jaw in return, her hips moving slowly against him. He knew he should stop her, to regain his slipping control of the situation, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He wanted to see what she would do.

"I don't know," was her dreamy reply and Dracula sighed heavily. "I can feel you in my mind. I don't want you there... but I do."

Well, she wasn't mad at him, at least not right now… but everything wasn't perfect between them either.

He'd have to fix that.

Later.

Slowly and with great care, Dracula began to release Hera's will while cautiously ceasing his kisses and backing away from her slowly, despite the pleas her eyes sent him.

"Don't stop," she whispered.

But he did stop, and when it was done, Hera was in her normal clothes again with a blank expression on her face.

It took a moment for everything to register and Dracula almost took her silence as a good sign, that is, until she slapped him hard across the face. The action was so unexpected, he didn't even have time to stop it.

Her hand collided with his cheek with a deafening smack – _and it actually hurt_.

Hera wasn't sorry she did it and Dracula quietly acknowledged that he had it coming, so he remained composed and didn't react. But when she tried a second time to strike him again, he stopped her.

"Don't push it, Miss Garret," he warned her gently, but she only glared at him.

"Don't push it? Don't _push_ it!?" she shouted at him. "How DARE you!"

Dracula stood like an immovable wall as Hera attempted to shove him away, but it was useless. Her strength could never even dream of surpassing his. Not by a long shot.

"You know, if you wanted me to open up to you so bad, you're doing one hell of a job of pushing me in the complete OPPOSITE direction, you fucking bastard!"

His eyes narrowed.

"Watch your tongue, Miss Garret. Or else."

"Or else what? You'll bite it off?!" she tested, kicking his shin like some kind of indignant child until he finally stepped out of her way.

With a huff, she was soon stalking off towards the door, thinking of every curse word in her vocabulary until his voice reached her ears.

"Your language, woman," he advised her, turning to look back at her, meeting her venomous gaze. "I can still _hear_ you."

 _Stay out of my fucking head and you won't have to listen to it!_ she screamed into his mind by thinking it. He turned fully to face her, his glare matching hers.

 _Seeing as how our minds are bound by our blood, I frankly don't have too much of a choice,_ he shot back.

She grabbed hold of the door and threw it open before pointing a treacherous finger at him.

"I am going to make you regret ever connecting our minds, Count Dracula! Mark my words. I will make you regret it!" she shouted at him now, her voice echoing throughout the entire room.

"Consider them marked," he snapped back, watching as she let out a growl of frustration before slamming the door behind her, marching away.

As soon as she was gone, he broke character and exhaled loudly before touching the cheek she had slapped.

It still stung.

That kiss, though. That positively sinful kiss still pulsated on his lips. Her mouth-watering taste still lingered in his mouth. And the devil forgive him, he wanted to taste more of her.

He shouldn't have done that, he thought to himself, rubbing the sting out of his cheek. But then again, at least he had gotten fiery Hera to make an appearance, and he hoped he'd be able to see more of her in the days to come.

* * *

 **Some answers to your questions... (because I haven't answered them in a while)**

 **Are there going to be any lemons in this story? If so, when?** I get this question A LOT, and though I've reached out to a number of you individually to answer it, I figured after what just happened above, I might as well answer it for all of you right now. In case you didn't read my chapter 1 A/Ns, this story IS rated M for sexual content (that's the first thing I listed off). Yes, I may have toned down a lot of the smuttier bits in this story, but as I've mentioned before, it was for a purpose. I needed to keep Hera and ESPECIALLY Dracula (who in the original can't keep his hands - or fingers - to himself) in character. I also needed to better nurture the sexual tension between them, which meant more teasing, less actual touching. But for those of you that are here just for a lemon - first off, I think you're reading the wrong story ;) and secondly, without spoiling this for my non-veterans, the first full-blown, old-fashioned sex scene/chapter (and yes, there's more than one) will get posted at the end of the month. So it's coming (pun intended), just... be patient and enjoy the foreplay? I don't know... just... keep your pants on :P

 **Did you intend to draw paralells between your story and the happenings in** _ **Beauty and the Beast?**_ Actually, no. That was totally accidental/subconsciously done, but that IS my favorite Disney movie and one of my top 3 favorite fairytales and I've always been a sucker for stories with relationships that start off rocky and end up legendary because the persons involved over-come great obstacles (including their own flaws and characters) and put in a great deal of work/effort to be together.

 **From jenny:** **Is Van Helsing going to join in on the competition for Hera?** Van Helsing does make an appearance later on in the story (as a great deal of the events here will coincide with the movie), but whether or not he joins in on the competition for Hera's heart... well, in the words of River Song: SPOILERS! ;) **Are you still going to kill Velkan?** 95% of the events in the film happen on or off-screen in this story. I can tell you that there are two characters that died in the film that won't die in this story, but as to who, again - SPOILERS! ;) But we haven't seen the last of Velkan. He still has a bit of a role to play.

 **From alexc1209:** **Is Jane the housekeeper human?** Jane is a vampire. She's been working for Count Dracula for a very, _very_ long time!

 **From ForeverACharmedOne:** (in reference to chapter 16) **Do you fence or did you do research?** My dad used to fence in college, so some of that wisdom was imparted on me as a kid. But most of the content in that chapter was just thoroughly researched. And it gave me an excuse to rewatch _The Princess Bride_.

 **If you have anymore questions, feel free to send them my way! Thank you again for reading and I'll see you all Monday for the next chapter!**


	21. Hera's Revenge

**This chapter... oh this chapter.**

 **Wanted to send out a very heart-felt thank you to those that reviewed over the weekend:** Scarlet Empress **,** the invisible reader **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** She-Devil Red **,** Bloodsired **,** 12345678910 **,** Lunaconspiracy365 **,** jenny **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** ShadowSpade **,** niccalexandra51 **,** Liz David **, and** DreamBubbles **. You guys are utterly amazing and I thoroughly enjoyed reading all of your comments! It was so nice to hear from all of you and I'm so happy you enjoyed the chapters as much as you did!**

 **But I would be amiss if I neglected to send out an EXTRA thank you to those who reviewed** _ **both**_ **chapters 19 AND 20 -** Scarlet Empress **,** the invisible reader **,** She-Devil Red **,** Bloodsired **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** Liz David **, and** DreamBubbles **. I absolutely ADORE you guys for the chapter-specific feedback and can't thank you enough for taking the time to do that!**

 **You reviewers** (and you readers as well) **are the** **greatest** **and I feel so privileged to have your continued support and approval.** *hugs*

 **DISCLAIMER: bit-o-lemon flavored shenanigans at the end.** _ **You'll see...**_

* * *

 **XXI**

 _ **Hera's Revenge**_

When Hera had stormed out of the room that evening, she had immediately retreated to her bedroom, only to slam the door as hard as she possibly could before locking it, throwing herself dramatically onto the bed, and screaming into a pillow.

When her moment of madness was over, two specific thoughts entered her mind.

The first was how utterly irate she was with Dracula, not to mention how completely humiliated she felt.

The second, and more lasting impression was what in God's name had she gotten herself into, threatening him like that?

Hera didn't even know _how_ she was going to get even with him for toying with her as he had. She admitted for just a brief moment how utterly incredible that kiss had been, though. It was the best she had ever had, hands down, no competition. Not even Velkan had been able to elicit such reckless passion in her.

Never before had she felt so wanted, so desired, and so on fire – even if he didn't truly mean it, even if he was just messing with her, manipulating her. But the mere recollection made a warm heat pool in her belly and her cheeks flushed.

Before she could linger on the memory for too long, however, she quickly remembered that the Count could be reading her mind without her knowing, so she cursed his name, blocked the pleasurable memory out, and focused all of her attention on how to get even with him.

Needless to say, nothing ever really came to mind.

How does one get "even" with a four-century-old vampire who also happens to have unrestrained access to one's thoughts?

Hera would have to do something relatively harmless, something that wouldn't earn any kind of major punishment or repercussion. But it had to be effective.

Satisfying.

Something that would infuriate him to no end.

She wanted to make him to seethe, to make his blood boil...to make him thoroughly regret that he had ever bonded them in the first place.

Yes, messing about with the Count's temper, having that kind of influence over him—it was a power trip. A dangerous one, but one of the few she had, and the thought of giving him a taste of his own medicine was something Hera could not resist.

The young woman had never imagined herself as the purposefully confrontational type, but when it came to getting the Count mad, she fit the bill flawlessly. She wanted to make him react, wanted to see how far she could push him, just as he pushed her; and for the present moment, it was all she had against him.

Hera didn't speak so much as a word to the Count for the next two days. In fact, she completely ignored him, acting as if he wasn't even in the room, despite how hard he tried to converse with her. She'd even give him the brush-off if his brides were present, content with talking to them, but if Dracula tried to participate in the conversation, she acted as if he hadn't even spoken.

Her behavior naturally displeased him and it didn't take long for the man to storm out of the room with a huff defeat, much to Hera's pleasure, even if a small part of her felt guilty for being so quarrelsome and rude. That's why on the third day, she lightened up a bit. She never apologized for how she had acted. Her pride forbade it and Dracula was very much the same. It was almost comical how alike they were, but if anyone had noticed, no one uttered a word.

On a particular Thursday evening, the two were in the Count's library, not really saying much of anything.

Hera had an Alexandre Dumas novel in hand as she lounged casually back on the sofa, silently reading while Dracula sat at a desk doing God knew what. Naturally, the woman didn't care, but the silence permitted her the opportunity to privately observe him for a moment or two, seemingly undetected.

Hera stealthily moved the book away from her face and allowed her eyes to slowly rise up to look over at Count Dracula, situated in a comfortable high-backed chair, pouring over some unknown documents. She never knew what he was working on when he spent those long hours in his office or at a desk in the library, but whenever she crossed his path during those few instances, he always had this look about him, something in his expression and air that he hadn't possessed when she first met him.

In truth, Hera hadn't really noticed the subtle change in him until she had started staying in his house.

His eyes, things Hera found entertaining to create metaphors for, were perceptive and focused, as if nothing could escape his notice. A strange but rather _cute_ crease would appear in his brow whenever he read something, as if he had to concentrate when translating different languages silently to himself.

The beautiful liquid eventide of his hair was always pulled back, with those defiant strands hanging loosely in his face, making him appear to be more… _enticing_ was the word she often seemed to choose. He was like a forbidden fruit, candy for the eyes, and always in black. It was the same outfit every evening – or at the very least, a variation on a theme – but the cut complimented him extremely well.

Her eyes then fell to his mouth and the memory of their last kiss brought pleasurable knots to twist in her womb. His lips had to be the most beautiful part of him she had seen thus far. They were on the thin side, but soft, gently parted as he breathed in the useless oxygen only to exhale slowly. She watched from a distance as the tip of his tongue crept out just slightly to moisten his lips and Hera swallowed hard.

 _God his mouth is so fucking beautiful_ she thought to herself, groaning internally as memories of what that mouth could do to her now in the forefront of her mind.

Even though he had to control her mind in order to get her submit, she enjoyed it. She'd deny it every time if he asked her, but she enjoyed it. Hera could distinctly remember how his lips felt pressed against hers, how he drove into her mouth with such wanton abandon, how he kissed her as if she were the one thing keeping him alive.

Hera's attention eventually returned back to her book, her eyes scanning over the words but not reading any of them, her mind too agreeably engaged elsewhere.

Oh, how she wanted him to kiss her again, and she replayed the incident in her mind once more, never noticing the sly grin that curved the Count's face as he continued with his work, never looking up at her.

"You seem to have a remarkable memory, Miss Garret," he commented, pulling her from her detailed reverie as she looked back at him, his eyes still having not met her own. "And I'm flattered you think my mouth is… _so fucking beautiful_ , as you put it, although I wish you wouldn't use such derogatory language to describe me. Simply 'beautiful' will suffice."

Hera's whimsical impression of the vampire suddenly turned for the worst as she practically screamed at him.

"Oh my GOD, stay out of my head!" but to this, he only laughed, pleased with her reaction.

"And why would I do that, my little spitfire? It's such an interesting place," he said, finally glancing up at her, that conniving grin of his never fading. She wanted nothing more than to smack it right off his face. "You admit things there that you never would openly."

Hera sat up and threw her book at him, but despite her usually good aim, it fell short, landing on his desk amidst the sea of papers. Her outburst, though a little immature for his taste, did not disturb him.

"There's no need to get angry, Miss Garret," he said with great apathy, momentarily glancing at the book she had thrown at him before moving it off his notes and papers, all with very little interest.

"I would give anything for you to be a piñata right now so I could beat the ever living hell out of you," she declared, having nothing more to throw at him except her insults. "I can't fathom how _anyone_ could possibly stand living with you."

To this, he only smiled and with a snap of his fingers the book opened. He picked it up with one hand, holding it out for her to retrieve, his eyes still on the work in front of him, not once having diverted up to meet her own incensed gaze.

"I believe you were on page a hundred and sixteen. Edmond Dantés found the treasure in the cave and had decided to become a Count?"

Hera moved over to Dracula's desk, albeit begrudgingly, and grabbed _The Count of Monte Cristo_ from the vampire's grasp, sending him a thoroughly disgusted look.

"Even when I'm reading, you're thumbing through my thoughts. Don't you have anything _better_ to do?" and she snatched the book from him, moving back to the sofa to sit.

For the brief time her back was towards him, he glanced up from his work and just stared as she walked. Delicious sexual fantasies of throwing her over the desk and taking her from behind danced in his mind as a wicked grin curved his lips, the idea of driving into her, the feeling of her skin against his, listening to her gasp and moan at how bold he could be...

"Oh yes," he said in hushed tones, feeling so remarkably filthy, it was astounding. "Much better things to do," and he let his eyes follow her as she plopped back down on the sofa before lying down, one leg bent up on the cushions, the other hanging lazily off to the side, her boot clad foot resting on the floor as she started to read again.

 _What a perfect position for her to be lying in_ he mused, wondering what it would be like to lay on top of her, in between those strong thighs after taking the novel from her hands, tossing it behind him carelessly before ravishing her.

The fantasy grew darker and far more detailed than it probably needed to be, but it sent a violent and delicious shiver through him – until he felt her looking back at him. In an effort to avoid any further suspicion, he casually diverted his attention back down to his work.

Within moments, the two were back to their mutual silence: Hera reading her book as the Count absently listened to her thoughts while he continued his work at the desk, doing his best to block out the immoral day-dreams of making violent love to the mortal on his sofa. But that sexually-charged silence only lasted for so long as Aleera suddenly entered the room in an uproar, Verona following close behind.

"Master!" Aleera whined. "Verona called me a whining, two-faced minx and said that I can't do anything right!"

Hera rolled her eyes.

 _That's the most accurate description I've ever heard,_ she thought to herself. _I wonder if they hand out awards for that kind of thing?_

Dracula caught what she had thought and snorted quietly, having to hold back his laughter while Aleera and Verona both came rushing toward him.

"Well, it's true!" Verona insisted, pointing an accusing finger at the redheaded bride. "You had asked us to go check on Igor at Castle Frankenstein to see if he had recovered anything more from the fire in the laboratory and Aleera decides to go create mischief in the village and the Valerious brats almost discovered our secrets concerning the progeny! She nearly got us all killed!"

 _What else is new?_ Hera thought to herself once more and she noticed the almost-grin on the Count's face as he tried to soothe and console his two brides.

He was listening to her thoughts again.

"Bastard," she said under her breath before returning to her book, doing her best to block out the rather irritating confrontation.

That is, until an idea so delicious and so foul entered her mind as she looked over at the three vampires, soon to be four as Marishka entered the room, her presence only adding to the commotion as she announced that the werewolves had gotten out again and were roaming free across the countryside.

Hera sat up, the novel still in front of her face, but just low enough to where she could see the four vampires in front of her, arguing heatedly. The wickedest of grins curved the mortal's lips as she stood up from her seat, quietly moving toward the main staircase of the library to put the book away.

"I think I'm going to have a bit of fun," she mused to herself, deciding to listen in on the conversation.

"Marishka, I thought I told you to tell Igor that the wolves were getting restless!" Dracula exclaimed, evidently frustrated with the news.

"I did, but he doesn't listen to me!" she insisted. "I swear, nobody takes me seriously around here."

 _Which only makes sense, as I'm having a secret affair with the imp that nobody seems to understand,_ Hera narrated in her mind, noticing the confused expression in the Count's eyes as he looked up at her. She just grinned darkly at him, watching as he shook off her comment and tried to concentrate on his brides again.

"Well, you go down there and tell him that if _I_ have to go and round them up myself again, that he will feel the repercussions of it ten-fold," he answered, tone fierce.

"Master!" Aleera griped, interrupting the Count as he spoke to Marishka.

"What is it now?!" he snapped at her, unable to listen to all three of them at once.

But it was about to get worse.

So much worse.

"Do you think I'm worthless?"

It took everything in him to keep from rolling his eyes.

"No, my dear. You are not worthless."

 _I think you're a pitiful waste of time though,_ Hera ad-libbed once more. _God, all that whining… you even whine when I'm not performing well enough for you. It's not my fault I can't last longer than three minutes._

Dracula's eyes snapped immediately to Hera's direction, but before he could confront her on the unrepentant insult, his brides started to complain again and Hera only continued to throw in her own dialogue.

 _You haven't bedded me in over three months!_ Hera thought for Aleera. _And last time Verona wanted some too and I had to share! I hate sharing with her!_

 _Well you're going to have to get used to it, because she was the first and I like her more than you_ , Hera spoke for Dracula, even mocking his accent in her mind.

 _But I have bigger boobs! She has the body of a freaking prepubescent boy!_

 _But she's a lot less of a whiner than you. And out of the three of you, she probably has the most sense. I love a woman with brains._

Dracula was having a difficult time listening to his three brides _and_ blocking out Hera's commentary. Although the trio of female vampires hadn't noticed his struggle, Hera had, and she openly relished in it.

"Master, when will we start work on the progeny again?" Verona asked him with an elegant degree of fortitude.

"I don't know," he answered, figuring it would be best to block out the other two and focus on one woman at a time. But Hera refused to make it that easy for him.

 _I don't know darling because I keep getting distracted with the sexy mortal living in my house_ , she narrated for the Count. _She's so beautiful, I can't seem to keep myself out of her mind. Instead of earning her trust and her affection like a respectable gentleman, I take what I want like a selfish pig. I wish she'd let me skip the pleasantries so we could just fuck and get over this sexual tension that I've insisted on nurturing._

 _Oh master, that's_ _ **so**_ _hot_ , Hera then added in for Verona. _I wish you paid attention to your wives half as much as you pay attention to some human you barely know. You're such a wonderful husband and your inability to stay faithful to us – the most gorgeous women in the world – it makes me wet._

"Hera-" Dracula called in a warning tone, looking up at her on the second floor.

She just flashed him a devious smile.

 _Yes?_ she purred into his mind.

"Master! Aren't you listening to me?!" Aleera practically shouted at him as she stamped her foot, on the verge of tears.

"Yes Aleera, I'm listening," he reassured the best he could as she tugged his arm.

 _I'm listening to your sad, sad story. Wait a second and I'll break out my violin. Darling, go grab your soapbox, will you?_ Hera started up again.

She noticed how the Count rolled his eyes and Aleera took immediate offense.

"Master!"

"I'm not rolling my eyes at you, Aleera!" he said behind gritted teeth, starting to lose control over the situation.

That was certainly a feeling he wasn't fond of.

"Master, I'm not feeling appreciated! Nobody notices anything I do around here!" Aleera continued once more. "I may be the youngest, but I'm over a century old. I'm not a child and I demand to be treated with the respect I deserve!"

 _I want you to have sex with me_ , Hera mocked in Aleera's voice. _I want you to ravish me like there's no tomorrow._

 _I would, but your sisters would be jealous._

 _To hell with them. I have to wear pink and they don't._

 _I know darling, but it's for the best. I like the Barbie look on you._

 _Really?_

 _Truly._

 _Oh Master!_

 _Aleera!_

Hera nearly broke character and almost started laughing as she finally put the book away, missing the frustrated and appalled look on Dracula's face as his brides continued to bombard him with their complaints and concerns.

Soon Marishka was the dominant voice in the room as she tugged on the Count's other arm, urging him to pay attention to her. Hera was having a field-day with this, and poor Dracula could do nothing but listen to all of it, unable to block Hera out and too distracted with everything else that was going on around him.

It was the perfect revenge.

 _Master, I want a pony_ , Hera mocked Marishka in her mind.

 _Marishka, you don't need one._

 _But I want one! And I want to go to Visceria and make love to Prince Velkan, since you won't sleep with me!_

 _I slept with you last night!_

 _But you kept calling me_ Verona _, and it got really irritating! It's bad enough that Velkan does that to me when he knocks me up! Always calling me_ Verona _…_

 _I'm sorry, but with three brides, how do you expect me to keep track of all your names when I'm in the middle of an orgasm?_

 _Master! I'm the eldest! Why must I share my things with the two of them?_ Hera now narrated for Verona.

 _Verona, not you too!_

 _Master, I miss it just being you and me! I don't understand why you can't just throw these two grumblers into the sun and live the rest of eternity with me! Am I not good enough for you? We can be the most unintentionally ironic couple in all the land with our dark hair, pale skin, and gothic sensibilities._

 _I need variety, Verona. That's why I have Aleera and Marishka too._

 _I want babies_.

 _We want babies! Wahh!_ Hera now mocked all three of them, since they were all talking at once about the progeny, asking about when they were going to start work on it again.

 _God damn it woman! Quit your bitching! I can't procreate any faster!_ Hera adlibbed for Dracula now, and the poor Count started to feel as though he were on the fringes of madness.

He couldn't take much more of this constant barrage on all sides. It was too much noise, too much chaos. Normally he was able to pull into himself for some semblance of peace, but Hera had taken up every empty space in his brain as she forcefully pushed her every conscious thought onto him.

"Master, we can't complete the task without the monster!" Verona suddenly insisted.

"But we should at least try!" Aleera shouted.

"I agree!" Marishka chimed in.

"What, and let our young die if the experiment fails? Have you no feeling at all?" the eldest bride gasped.

 _Master why couldn't you have just stuck with me?!_ came Hera's mockery of the bride once again, her unapologetic teasing relentless.

 _Because you're flat, that's why!_ was the mortal's reply for the Count.

 _Master! I'm insulted! How could you?_

 _And the neck thing is driving me insane! Take the goddamn thing off, for the love of my eyes! I want to scratch them out every time I look at it!_

 _But you picked it out!_

 _I don't care, damn it! Get rid of it!_

 _But Master, our babies!_

 _Oh, shut up! You three are nothing but whores anyway! I can't love! I feel nothing! I. Am. Hollow… and all that shit… and I will live for…_

"HERA, _ENOUGH_!" Dracula shouted, the tail-end of his bark sounding more like a growl.

He was visibly shaking as he struggled to rein himself back in, but his violent outburst had effectively silenced not just his brides, but the mortal on the second floor who had been leaning over the banister, watching the four of them with interest. Now all eyes in the room were on her and the Count's gaze in particular had gone dark with unspeakable rage.

"But she didn't say a word," Verona said, sending her master a strange look that mirrored Marishka and Aleera's.

"Yeah nibs, I didn't _say_ anything," Hera cooed in a sing-song voice.

His glare, if it was even possible, grew darker and his hands balled into tight fists, his knuckles going white.

"You didn't say anything?" he repeated in a tone that informed all the women in the room that he was on the brink of exploding. The temperature in the air dropped dramatically and some of the lights even flickered in response. "YOU DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING?! The _entire_ time you're throwing in your appalling side-comments and vulgar adlibbing dialogue! How do you expect me to concentrate on these three when you're _thinking the entire time_?!" and the walls shook slightly as the volume of his voice increased.

"I hate to break it to you, your grace, but I happen to think quite often, unlike you. You see, that's the beautiful difference between women and men. We women think too much, whereas you men don't think at all," she answered smartly.

Dracula was ready to strangle her, so completely over her endless defiance.

"Woman, I thoroughly regret creating that bond between us! I really do!" he exclaimed without even thinking about what he was saying.

But Hera's smile reminded him of that as the vehement anger in his eyes abruptly vanished, replaced with recognition and then utter humiliation.

The mortal had bested him.

"And that, my dearest Count, was the _whole_ idea."

And _that_ was the last straw.

" _OUT!_ " he shouted at her, trembling as he pointed toward the door.

When she didn't move, it only incensed him further, his wrath reaching the danger zone. All he needed was one more shove, and Hera would have pushed him to the place where rationality was no longer in existence.

"I will deal with you later!" he snapped.

Hera placed her hands casually behind her back, clearly mocking him as she moved down the stairs in an overly dramatic fashion. Within moments she reached the first floor and she traveled nonchalantly past the four sets of eyes that were watching her expectantly. Grabbing both handles of the library doors, she swung them open and moved out into the hall before turning theatrically to look back at the Count, that mischievous glint still in her eyes.

Her middle finger flew up into the air in front of her as she flipped him off and in flawless Romanian, coupled with an exaggerated accent that clearly made a mockery of his own, she said, " _Fuck. You_ ," and then smiled.

Dracula snapped.

For a single instant, he lost control of his temper and in a blind rage he grabbed hold of the desk that was at his side and he sent it flying across the room towards the door with a demonic growl, fangs bared, eyes a pitless black. The desk in question barely missed Marishka by inches and had she not ducked, it would have taken her head clean off.

Hera quickly slammed the doors to the library shut and moved out of the way just as the desk came crashing through, reducing the once beautifully crafted doors, easily worth a small fortune, into nothing but splinters.

The Count's brides retreated nervously backward, holding onto each other as their master clenched and unclenched his fists, desperately struggling to regain his composure and rein his inner-demon back in. But Hera's head peeked into the room through the cloud of dust and she whistled in surprise before tsking at him playfully.

She even had the nerve to continue smiling.

"Somebody needs to control their temper," the mortal teased before stepping over the rubble. Heading down the hall towards the stairs, she began whistle while making her way to her room, offering a chipper "hello" to Jane and one of the other servants who had just come to see what all the commotion was about.

Dracula was seething through gritted teeth when the two servants entered the library, sending their employer concerned and even slightly confused expressions. The vampire felt a tentative hand touch his arm.

"Master?" Verona called soothingly.

He immediately brushed her aside, almost ready to snap at her but she withdrew quickly.

"Get out," he hissed softly, his tone eerily hushed and lethal.

When they didn't move, he pointed toward the gaping hole that used to be the exit, his body visibly rigid.

"I said OUT!"

The three scurried away and the instant they were gone, Dracula let out a roar of untold frustration. He screamed towards the sky, swearing oaths in his native tongue before storming out of the room.

"Clean up this mess," he barked at the handful of servants who had gathered to the library, and then he was marching up the stairs towards Hera's bedroom.

His blood was boiling, his pace fast and murderous while hundreds of curses swam through his head as he neared the entrance of the mortal's private chambers. He could hear her heartbeat from behind the door, very calm and steady. Not even giving it a moment's consideration, he threw open her door.

What he had expected was the woman sitting on her bed or something, jumping in surprise at his sudden presence and then cowering away in fear.

But no. That's not what had happened.

Not at all.

The second he had opened the door, her small, but powerful fist came colliding with his face and the sickening crunch of his shattered nose echoed in his head for a brief moment. Dracula let out an agonizing groan which then melted at the tail-end into an infuriated growl. Although understandably furious that she had hit him, he almost laughed, impressed that she had managed to catch him off guard - _clever woman_. The Count turned to look at her as his nose healed before her eyes. Hera was cradling her first in her hand, wincing as she made a move to sprint out the door, but he was too fast.

He seized her roughly by the arm, his grip unbreakable as he swung her back into the room while she shouted abuse at him. Despite his superior strength, Hera mindlessly let out weeks of pent up rage on him, furiously kicking him in the shins.

His grip only loosened momentarily, but just enough for her to pull her arm out of his hand and she tried to escape through the open door once more. When he stopped her, her struggle against him was so unexpectedly powerful, it sent the two of them crashing to the floor.

Dracula swiftly kicked the door shut with his foot, the loud slam undoubtedly echoing throughout the entire fortress. He wrestled with her for a time, attempting to pin down the furiously writhing Hera who was still struggling beneath him, punching his chest in an effort to push him off of her. She was surprisingly strong, this one.

"Let go of me!" she ordered, but he ignored her demands.

"Stop… squirming!"

"I said get off!" she shot back. He finally managed to grab hold of her hands and he slammed them to the floor, now trying to get better situated on her body. "You're crushing me!"

"Stop struggling and I won't!"

As Dracula lifted himself up so he could better restrain her, Hera used the opportunity to bend her knee and the sudden movement slammed between his legs in the one place he wished she hadn't hit. He let out a gasp of surprise and then groaned as he doubled over in pain on top of her.

With a grunt and an exertion, she pushed him off of her and tried to crawl away, but he grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her back, sliding her between his legs before sitting on top of her, straddling her waist and pinning her hands back down onto the floor beside her head.

" _That_ … was uncalled for," he panted, still trying to shake off the throbbing pain in his genitals.

"You deserved it!" she spat. "I finally manage to turn the tables on you and you have to be an ass about it and get all bent out of shape," and she continued to struggle against his powerful hold. He pushed her harder into the floor and perched his face above hers.

"I do not tolerate this kind of behavior from _anyone,_ Miss Garret, do you understand me?"

"Well that's just great, because newsflash! Neither do I," and with a loud growl to get her adrenaline pumping, Hera managed to lift him off of her, pushing him down onto his back, trading places with him on the floor.

She had turned the tables on him once again.

His eyes widened in honest surprise, but the astonishment didn't last long.

"I don't like people walking all over me, Dracula."

"And I don't stand for the disrespect you have been bestowing on me as of late. I have been very generous with you, woman."

"Generous?" she laughed. "Oh, _please_!"

"Yes, generous! I have clothed you, fed you, provided a place for you to sleep; I allow you free reign over my home, and still you choose to behave like an indignant child."

"I'm a grown woman, you jerk, and I have every right in the world to be treated as such. Helping yourself to my thoughts is inexcusable!"

"Do not raise your voice at me!"

"Or you'll what?" Hera seethed through her gritted teeth, getting in his face as she remained on top of him. "I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be," he growled back.

"Well I'm not, so get used to it!"

"Why are you so determined to hate me?"

"Why do you insist on violating my privacy?"

He flashed her a fake smile.

"Touché _madam_."

"Oh, you better believe it, buddy," she snapped, unwittingly scooting down along the length of his body when he tried to sit up beneath her, just enough so the notable swell in his pants was now accidentally rubbing between her legs.

Hera was too infuriated with him to even notice the intimate friction, but Dracula felt the contact and his body's instinctual response almost instantly. In fact, his anger quickly melted away as she inadvertently began to grind against him and soon he was only struggling against her simply because he wanted her to move her hips some more.

"I am sick of you walking all over me, using me like I'm some sort of marionette and you're holding my strings. I hate it, Count, do you hear me?" Hera continued, unaware of how ironic that statement was.

"I'm not deaf, spitfire. You don't have to shout," he said gently, trying so hard to stay focused as she continued to unwittingly rub herself against his now _very_ prominent erection.

He had been dreaming about this happening all day!

"But you never listen to me!" she insisted. "I keep telling you to stop, but you don't! You… never…"

Hera's train of thought made an abrupt 180 degree turn, veering into a completely different direction when she realized what her body was doing, and how he was looking at her. She stopped and just stared at him, no comprehensible thoughts in her mind, just the awareness of the lengthy stiffness that was pressing between her legs – and that cognizance made her breath come out in a delicious shudder.

Her eyes met his and a rancorous hunger snatched its lethal grip on the both of them, swooping in to create a maddening tension between the tightly held thighs, vast warmth pooling at Hera's abdomen and spreading down into her womb, despite the internal pleas she made for it to stop.

The feeling was poison, suffocating her anger —slowly killing any malice that she had felt toward the man lying beneath her body. Dracula looked so beautiful below her, gaping at her, and a slight but sudden jerk of his body made her realize how powerful lust could be and it sent her sense of reason spiraling into oblivion as an alarming and unfathomable need for filthy, mindless sex possessed her.

His groin was pressed against hers, and though they were both fully clothed, it caused images to make their peak in her system, mind fleeing from reality to wander into that raging inferno of potent desire, and it made Hera feel powerful. She dared to feed the fire and before she could talk herself out of it, she rubbed herself against him, grinding against his hard and confined length.

The action brought him to moan softly and the sound of his submission sent her reeling on a power trip she never wanted to return from, so she ground a little harder, hardly conscious of what she was doing. All she knew was that the feeling of his hard body between her legs felt forbidden and wonderful, and she was soon submitting pressure into the sexual tension that grew and grew and grew.

He whispered her name, her given name this time, a fluent Romanian accent tickling her senses as she pressed further, harder against him, feeling his hips starting move against hers, neither of them knowing what they were doing or why. All they knew was that if felt good… unbelievably good.

The Count raised his waist off the ground a bit with her on top of him, pushing his need harder between her legs, lifting her up with him and she released a soft shuddering breath of delight, her eyes fluttering open and shut as her thighs tightened and squeezed his waist, her hands resting on his abdomen to keep herself upright.

Pictures from her darkest fantasies clouded her mind as the grinding intensified on both sides, his shaft pushing against her pants and his to the point where the formfitting material now outlined the lips between her legs. She could see herself riding him in her mind, with him sheathed inside of her and a powerful shiver raced down her spine, leaving her skin crawling wildly.

She wanted to make that fantasy a reality.

The Count could feel the heat coming from her, could smell it in the air, and he noticed how her beautiful eyes brightened and rolled behind her fluttering lashes as images of darker things painted scarlet pictures in her mind—pictures of that covered length forcing its way inside of her, stretching her insides to their limits, both of them hot and naked on the floor.

Dracula watched Hera's face contort in an expression of mixed confusion and arousal as she felt him in her head, witnessing the things she was imagining, partaking in her pleasure as she intensified his.

"What are you doing to me?" she whimpered.

He only stared into her eyes.

"I'm not doing anything," he breathed. "This is all you."

Hera stared into his eyes with disbelief as reality slapped her hard across the face, shattering the beautiful illusion their primitive desires had created.

"What?" she asked him as her grinding came to a halt. "You're not controlling me?"

He shook his head "no" and Hera cursed under her breath as she rather abruptly tried to retreat, but he quickly grabbed hold of her wrists again, squeezing them hard.

"No," he pleaded desperately, the single out of character response taking her by surprise.

 _He only wants you to continue so he can persuade you to make more mistakes,_ her insecurities taunted in the back of her mind. _He doesn't care… he was just acting. He doesn't care about you. He only cares about your body, about his own pleasure. Don't let him use you_.

Her overactive and very persuasive conscience vexed her greatly and she struggled against his hold.

"Yes," she answered stubbornly, and she tried to yank herself free from his grip. She half expected him to let her go, but instead he her rolled over onto her back, perching himself above her, his hands on either side of her head.

"Why did you do that?" he demanded and she made a face.

Was he angry with her because she wanted to stop? Why the hell did he care that she stopped in the first place?

She decided to play dumb.

"Do what?"

" _That_ ," he exclaimed, referring to the randomly intimate moment they had shared just seconds ago.

"I don't know, just get off of me," she answered in aggravated tones, trying to push him off of her, and he finally relented, not willing to fight.

A strange and awkward silence lingered between them for a few long moments as the two sat on the floor until, without warning, Dracula stood, straightening up his jacket and heading toward Hera's window.

"I need some air," he suddenly informed her for no reason at all and before Hera could even respond, he had shifted and taken off into the night, leaping off the ledge of her terrace window and letting gravity take its hold on him.

The mortal managed to get herself to her feet and she moved quietly over to the abandoned window, shutting it very gently and pulling the drapes over the glass. She stood there for a moment or two, just staring at the curtains before prying herself away and moving over to the basin of cold water that resided on the bedside table.

Without a second thought, she dunked her entire head into the icy cold water, holding it there for nearly a minute before emerging, gasping for air. A loud and almost cruel slap resonated in the otherwise empty room when Hera's hand came colliding with her cold, wet face rather harshly. Then she stared at her reflection in the mirror in front of her.

"What… in God's name… was that?" she panted to herself. She smacked herself again. "Come on Hera, get a hold of yourself!"

After a few lengthy moments staring motionless at her reflection, Hera finally marched in the direction of her private bath.

God, did she need one – an ice cold one.

And oh, how she wished she had a bathroom door to slam, but there was none, so instead she kicked the side of the archway before moving into the smaller chamber and turning the faucet, watching as the freezing water filled the pristine free-standing tub.

Confusing thoughts swarmed her head—like why did she do what she did, and why did she go from being utterly infuriated with him to suddenly craving wild and meaningless sex – and with _Dracula_ , of all people?

She didn't know the answer, but what she did know was that it was a huge mistake on her part. What had turned out as a lovely evening of revenge had ended in an unexpected counter-attack… one she never had seen coming.


	22. Somewhat of a Truce

**Keeping this note short because I know a good many of you are really looking forward to this chapter, so - an enormous thank you to** alexc1209 **,** Scarlet Empress **,** the invisible reader **,** She-Devil Red **,** 12345678910 **,** Bloodsired **,** RegencyPoet **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** HouseofWolves06 **,** ShadowSpade **,** Nyx-Arae **,** bloodyrose2014 **, and** niccalexandra51 **for your wonderful reviews of the last chapter! Heavens, I feel like such a broken record saying the same thing each and ever chapter, but truly, you guys... your feedback means the world to me. And hey, if you can't find anything to critique, then it means I'm doing something right, so don't feel bad! And if you can find something I can improve upon, thank you for being kind and respectful when you tell me so. Your comments and approval mean so much to me - so thank you!**

 **Alrighty then, my lovelies, let's do this.**

 **DISCLAIMER: unapologetic lemon-flavored goodness during the first part of this chapter. It serves a purpose, naturally, but if smut is not your thing, skip down to the very first "Miss Garret" and go from there. Otherwise... ENJOY!**

* * *

 **XXII**

 _ **Somewhat of a Truce**_

Hera was far too exhausted from the evening's events to do much of anything after Dracula had left. Her mind was a cocktail of conflicting thoughts and emotions and when she had finished bathing, she couldn't even find the energy to dress herself in decent pajamas. So instead of taking the time to grab the nightgown she had left draped over the back of a nearby chair, she opted for the silk dressing gown instead before crawling beneath the covers of her welcoming bed.

In the back of her mind her conscience nagged, telling her to get up and dress herself in something more modest and suitable for sleeping, but she ignored reason and buried herself beneath the decadent linens.

But even as the darkness enclosed around her and her body eased into the luxurious bed, there was a part of her brain that was still cognizant and alert, awash with what had just taken place only a few hours ago, not even eight feet from the foot of her bed. She could see images of Dracula in her mind, lying flat on his back beneath her, his beautiful eyes and parted lips, an expression on his features that she had never seen before – one of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Not desire. Not even lust. But a surprisingly deep, unfathomable satisfaction – and _she,_ Hera Kali Garret, had been the one to create that in him.

 _Dracula…_

The name brought a flurry of emotions both pleasant and wroth as the mortal could feel herself slipping into an uneasy sleep, the sheets of the bed almost surreal, the goose-feather pillow melting through her brain, taking over her senses, leaving her feeling light and frothy, warm and relaxed.

Hera wasn't sure what time it was, but after a while, she became aware of a presence in her room. But instead of opening her eyes to confirm who it was, she decided to keep them closed in hopes that he'd go away. She waited for what felt like nearly ten minutes, but he never left. She could still feel his eyes on her, watching her as she supposedly slept.

 _What does he want now?_ Hera thought to herself, rolling over onto her back and forcing herself to crack open an eyelid.

The young woman was taken aback at how close the vampire was to her—sitting in a chair beside her bed, his jacket lying over the far end of the mattress, leaving him in his vest and long-sleeved shirt, both slightly undone at the top with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. This new appearance of his was rather appealing in the dimly lit room.

Hera opened her eyes completely now, instantly swept up in his stare.

"Count, is something the matter?" she asked him, her voice barely a whisper.

Dracula never said a word, just continued to fix his eyes on her, as if in debate with himself. He had a look of explicit longing about him, as if the mere sight of her aroused him in a profound way. It intrigued her and she watched as he scooted to the edge of his seat and leaned over her a little, as she was lying near the edge of the bed.

Oh how she wanted him to touch her, how she craved it, her reasoning unknown and secret, yet he seemed to sense it in her, because his hand was now inching toward her face.

"What do you want?" she breathed as he reached out and touched her soft lips with his fingertips.

Electricity shot through her at the feel of his skin caressing her cheek now. She leaned into his touch and shivered with a rush of pure, unadulterated desire.

So responsive to him she was, and his lips curved a little.

"You," was his response to her question.

Hera's eyes widened in surprise and she could feel her stomach coil and her cheeks flush.

"Me?" she clarified, her hand rising up to meet his own and she pressed his palm firmly against her cheek, soaking in his cool touch.

"Yes," he said, his hand sliding down slowly, escaping her grasp as it moved downward, over her neck, her collarbone, and then underneath the blanket where it soon slipped within the opening of her robe and brazenly over a naked breast.

Hera released a shuddering breath as his palm rubbed over her comparatively warmer skin. She noticed the look in his eyes, the struggle to move his hand away, to resist the temptation, but never before had she wanted something so desperately in her life. Hera arched her back a little to encourage him, and he couldn't do it… he could not pull away.

Instead, he drew his fingers together around her stiff nipple, pressing and rolling it to give her a taste of the pleasure she so craved. Her name left his lips in a husked rush of air, fringing on the ends of a low rumble in his chest and she moaned softly, gripping the pillow beneath her head.

He leaned forward and captured her lips with his, his kiss leaving her heady and weak. She twisted in the bed beneath him, pushing at the blanket that seemed to only be making her hotter until the linens finally slipped down just beneath her waist, leaving her upper body pleading for him and his adoring hands. With one languid swipe of his palm, he opened the robe, pushing the smooth material back so his eyes could drink in her unconcealed flesh.

He shivered at the sight of her, moved by her creamy white skin that was just begging to be touched. Her figure was lovely, mature and soft. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he approved of her and the soft blush in her cheeks deepened in color.

Dracula continued to fondle the supple softness of her breasts, squeezing and pinching, not because it was what she wanted, but because he couldn't get enough of the delectable little noises that escaped past her lips in response.

"Why have you resisted me for so long?"

Another pinch.

Harder this time.

She sucked air through her teeth.

Gods, did she want him.

Her fingers lightly brushed his mouth before caressing the fingers that were tormenting her flesh. She wanted him to use his mouth. The silent request appeared to please him, his gaze never leaving her body. He clearly wanted to taste her, and he didn't have the will to refuse, so he bent his head, squeezing her breast in his hand so the stiff peak would thrust upward, and he lapped the tip with his tongue.

She trembled.

"More," Hera whimpered.

"Tell me what I want to hear and you can have everything you desire," he whispered, his breath bathing her sensitive skin as he spoke.

"I'm not supposed to like you. Can't risk changing the future… _Please,_ _Count_ …"

He gave her a little more, sucking deep and hard for a long moment as her hands closed in his hair, holding him to her. He even bit down a little. She arched against his mouth, silently pleading for more.

The vampire smirked against her skin.

She was greedy, this one. But instead of yielding to her request, he stopped.

"You're not telling me everything, spitfire. Keep talking…"

His demands puzzled her mind slightly, but they were pushed away by some unknown force before she could even give them a moment's consideration.

Strange…

Why did all of this feel so… so off?

She tried to think about it, tried to pull some kind of cohesive thought together outside of what his glorious mouth was doing to her flesh, but that unknown force forbade her to so much as think and within moments, all that consumed her was the Count and his requests.

Breathless, she whispered, "I'm so scared. I don't know how to open myself to people and keep them at a distance at the same time and I don't want to get hurt… not again. I've been used so many times, and I'm tired of it. I know you truly feel nothing for me… but I… I…"

"You can't help it," he finished for her as she pressed her breast to his lips and he took it again, drawing on it, nipping and tugging, rewarding her honesty. She writhed beneath him, arching and moaning until the linens fell to the floor, leaving her completely exposed to him.

Beautifully vulnerable.

God help him.

Everything was a pleasurable blur to Hera as she felt his strong, powerful hand smooth over her body, across her belly to the slightly coarse curls between her legs. She let her thighs fall open wide, lifting her hips up and against his hand.

He knew exactly what she wanted.

"Why do you really want me here?" she had panted and when she felt his two fingers slip inside of her, she bucked against his hand, shuddering from head to toe and consequently pressing him deeper.

The noise that came out of her wasn't human and it made him smile wickedly, a deep sense of satisfaction in his eyes as he pleasured her slowly, purposefully.

"Isn't it obvious?" he breathed, his voice containing a hint of a surreal echo to it.

She breathlessly urged him on, and he complied, leaving Hera lost to the unreal sensation.

Black velvet wrapped around her mind as he murmured sweet nothings into her ear, the breathless Romanian translating: _Give yourself to the pleasure, my beautiful spitfire. Give yourself to me_. _Surrender to me. Let go…_ and he worked her body and mind in a way that was almost methodical.

The tension within her built far more rapidly than what she was used to and he watched with dark fascination as her brow furrowed. She whimpered and moaned, writhing in a roaring swarm of heat, rapidly tumbling into an ecstasy that was unlike anything she had ever experienced in all her life, and it only seemed to continue to grow.

And then everything inside of her seemed to erupt in a burst of liquid warmth and shivers that devoured every inch of her flesh.

Hera had never felt a release anything like the one that was tearing through her body, and she jerked and shuddered, whispering his name in reverence over and over as she came undone beneath his masterful fingers.

"Hera," came his voice once more, only this time, it was on the other side of the room. "Hera?"

Her mind was confused. Where was that voice coming from? Dracula was right here, right on the bed. She closed her eyes, trying to understand, to make sense of all of this, when Dracula called her again.

"Miss Garret! Wake up," he ordered her.

Hera's eyes suddenly snapped open, her sweating body twisted in sheets. Her hands were gripping the rich linens, nails digging into the delicate material and her mind buzzed in confusion as she realized where she was and what time it was.

The clock on the wall and the sky outside told her it was sunset of the next day, and the fact that she was dressed in pajamas and not a passion torn silk robe told her that everything that had just occurred had been a dream—a _very_ real, sexual dream that would undoubtedly torture her all day… or night, if she wanted to be technical.

So one thing remained unanswered. Who was calling her? What had woken her up?

The figure standing in front of the fireplace in her room answered that question and she felt her heart leap violently in her chest in surprise.

It was the Count.

When he saw that she was awake, he turned to face the dancing flames in the hearth.

"Finally, you're up," he commented lightly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say waking you up is like trying to wake up the dead."

Hera stared wide-eyed, unable to form any kind of response.

She just had a sex dream about him… HIM!

And he had been standing in her room?!

Had he seen her dream?

Had he been reading her mind?

 _Did he know?!_

The idea mortified her and she covered her mouth at the possibility of him having witnessed something so private and so _completely_ inappropriate.

"What are you doing in here?" she immediately questioned.

He turned to face her, placing his hands casually behind his back as he moved over to the edge of her bed.

"I wanted to discuss something with you," he began, noting how she was backing away from him as she sat in her bed, a look of pure terror in her eyes.

Why would she be afraid of him?

She never showed much fear of him before, so why the sudden change?

"Is everything alright?"

"Have you been in my mind recently?" came her hesitant query.

"No?" and he made a strange face. "Why? Do I need to be?" When she didn't answer, he offered her a wary expression. "Miss Garret, what are you hiding?"

He was on to her and Hera realized what a stupid mistake she had made. Now he was suspicious of her and would certainly try to pry the information from her one way or another.

 _Way to go, genius,_ she thought to herself as she desperately tried to shake off the phantom aches of her body before stumbling out of bed.

"Nothing," came her rushed reply. "I've just… never woken up to you standing in my room and was curious if you had tried to invade my mind again while I was asleep, since both of us know you'd sink that low." She looked up at him as she made her bed just in time to catch the remnants of his expression—it was a cross between resentment and amusement. What the amusement aspect was for, she had no idea. "So, _did_ you rummage through my head while I was asleep?"

"No, I did not," he answered in a very dignified manner, his hands still behind his back as he watched her make the bed. "And you don't have to do that. That's what the servants are for."

"Unlike you, I'm not a lazy imbecile who prefers to have people waiting on me, hand and foot," Hera began. He grabbed hold of the other end of the sheet in response, standing opposite from across the bed so he could assist her – albeit begrudgingly.

"This is precisely why we need to talk."

"We don't need to talk, Count. There's nothing to talk about."

"You're wrong," he insisted as he helped her pull the down-comforter up, straightening out the creases and wrinkles. "Unlike most mortals, I find that you are very difficult to understand. You're unpredictable, and no matter how hard I try, one minute you loathe me with nearly every fiber of your being, like right now, and the next, you have me pinned to the floor and are-"

" _Please_ don't finish that sentence," she pleaded as she picked up one of the pillows that had fallen off the bed. The pillow was abruptly snatched from her grasp and she noticed Dracula was standing beside her now.

"Very well, I won't. But the point is Miss Garret, you are erratic; I don't see how anyone could fully understand you."

"Well good, that means I'm actually doing something right for once."

She tried to walk away from all of this – heaven knew she wasn't in the mood – but he stopped her, pulling her back to face him with a little more force than he had intended, but she was trying his patience again. After all, he didn't have much to begin with and after last night...

"I'm not done with you yet, and neither of us are leaving this room until you listen to what I have to say."

"And what proposition do you have this time, Dracula? What could you possibly have to say? – Outside of an apology, which I think I've rightfully earned at this point."

Hera had often prided herself in being able to forgive people with greater ease, but when it came to this man, she was having one hell of a time being merciful. She wasn't quite sure what it was about him that made it so easy for her to be angry with him, but the man made her feel reckless, impulsive, and easily agitated. Hera hated feeling so out of control.

"Let me just make something abundantly clear right now, Dracula. From the very beginning, you have done nothing but what every other godforsaken man has done or at least has tried to do me – and _then some_! You've shamelessly taken advantage of me – and although I appreciate you being honest about your intentions from the get-go, that doesn't mean I'm fond of your actions. You have kidnapped me, sexually harassed me, have threatened my very existence, you've violated my privacy I don't know how many times, you stole my free-will and turned me into some sick and twisted mind slave just so you could cop a feel in front of Velkan, and you have the _nerve_ to wonder why I'm always so disagreeable? Are you bloody serious?"

Though in any other situation Dracula would have interjected, he remained silent, listening intently.

"Look, Dracula, I get it. I'm some valuable piece on this stupid board of yours that has you on one side and the Valerious family on the other, and I get that the two of you feel the need to fight over me – which, for the record, though flattering, is also insanely annoying. But did it ever once occur to either of you that I'm not some prize to be won? I am a _person_ , Count. I have feelings and needs and… and fucking _boundaries_. I understand that you want to make sure I stay neutral, but being a complete pain in the ass is not the way to do that. I want to be civil with you, Count. Hell, I wouldn't even mind being friends, but that can't happen if you keep treating me like some lesser human being. Alright?"

"Are you finished?" he then asked her calmly.

Hera thought about it for a moment and after a good fifteen seconds, she couldn't think of anything else to say to him.

"Yes. I'm finished."

"Very well. Will you listen to what I have to say?"

"Did you hear _any_ of the words that just left my mouth?"

"Yes, and I will respond… but only if you're done," he explained, his demeanor and tone genuinely cordial.

When she nodded her head in agreement, he led her over to the fireplace and had her sit down in the chair while he stood beside the hearth, resting his arm against the mantle as he stared into the flames for a brief moment, collecting his thoughts.

"Before I begin, I want you to understand that my reasons for having you in my home are my own. I acknowledge that my behavior hasn't been entirely appropriate, but I also won't deny that riling you up gives me an inordinate amount of pleasure," and he sent her a cheeky grin. Hera rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep herself from smiling in return. "Also, I've noticed that you like to push my buttons just as much as I do yours, and though I don't particularly care for the way you incite my temper for your own amusement, I can't fully berate you for that without being a hypocrite."

That was an acknowledgement she hadn't anticipated.

"Miss Garret… Hera, I would very much like it if the two of us strove to not only be more civil, but I also feel the two of us could benefit from some kind of mutual honesty and openness with one another."

Hera eyed him suspiciously when he said that and she watched as he grabbed the other chair next to the fire and pulled it in front of hers before taking a seat. He then leaned forward a little bit.

"I'd also appreciate that whatever happens between us – conversations or any other occurrences like the one that happened last night – I'd prefer to keep those between us moving forward."

"Why?"

"For the sake of your safety, primarily, and to avoid any unnecessary… commotion."

"You mean with your brides?"

"In part, yes – though in the spirit of full disclosure, I'm more concerned about Aleera's response should something happen."

"You're not the only one worried about that," Hera admitted. "I can agree to keep quiet if that's what you want. But why the request for openness? Why do you care what secrets I choose to keep?"

"My reasons are my own."

"If I'm going to agree to this, then I have a right to at least understand some of those reasons."

"Look, can you at least try to be honest with me? And in return, I will be as… as honest as I can with you."

"So you can still lie to me and refuse to give me information when I request it, but I have to be completely and totally honest and upfront with you? Is _that_ what you're asking of me?"

"Yes."

Hera laughed.

"You have got to be kidding me! What makes you think I'll agree to such terms? That's not very equal at all."

"I'm not entirely understanding where this incessant need for equality is coming from," he admitted. "I've never known a woman to be as demanding as you."

"I'm not being demanding. I'm being reasonable. I get that you're not used to the gentler sex putting up a fight, Count, but you have to understand – where I come from, your behavior toward me would be considered inexcusable on all counts."

"Miss Garret, I'm willing to try, truly I am, but you can't just expect me to change the very nature of my being because it's what you're accustomed to."

Hera sent him an arched look, hoping he could hear how hypocritical that sounded. Fortunately, he did, and he muttered an oath under his breath.

"Very well. I will make a concerted effort to stay out of your head – at least as much as I can help it, mind you. I'm not perfect. But I'm willing to try and that's more than what I tend to offer to anyone. But you need to do something for me, and what I want is for you to be honest and to recognize my authority and position. Not only am I your host, madam, I am your superior. I am the ruler of my kind, Miss Garret, and that position demands respect. I've allowed you to walk all over me, but I will not stand for it any longer."

Hera couldn't believe this guy.

"You won't stand for it any longer?" she repeated. "Count, do you even know what the phrase 'walk all over me' means? I am the _last_ person to have walked all over you. If anyone has been ill-used, it's been me. _I've_ been the victim of _you_ , not the other way around."

"Let me inform you, Miss Garret, that I rarely allow mere mortals, particularly women with no surname of dignity, to address me with the kind of vulgarity and lack of civility that you use. I never permit them to so much as lay their fingers on me without my permission, and I certainly never permit them to speak so abominably against myself and my brides. Need I remind you about last night in the library?"

Hera snapped her mouth shut.

It was evident that arguing with him was pointless.

The man was accustomed to having things done his way. He was nobility by blood and the king of an entire race, the son of the devil himself – it was evident he was used to certain treatment and respect. And although in her mind, his rank was no excuse for his behavior – and it truly wasn't – she could not excuse her own.

Just because he chose to behave like a tyrant and spoiled child whenever it was convenient didn't mean she had to sink to his level. If he wasn't going to take the initiative and be the better person, then she'd set the example… though deep down she still really wanted to smack him.

"What do you _really_ want, Dracula?" she asked through her teeth, trying to keep herself as cordial as she possibly could.

"For starters, I want you to answer a question that I've privately had for some time now."

"And what question is that?"

"Are you sexually attracted to me?"

Her expression was priceless.

"I'm sorry, I seem to have misheard you. Can you repeat that, please?"

"You heard my question, Miss Garret. I'd appreciate an answer."

"You can't be serious!" and she stood from her seat, appearing almost offended by his suggestion. "Am I _what_?"

"Just answer the question," he said calmly, leaning back in his chair, hands folded in his lap. "I believe I know the answer already, but it is imperative that I hear the words spoken from your lips."

"No! I most certainly am not!" she insisted defensively, moving away from him. "I don't see how that'd be any of your business in the first place, even if I was."

"The truth, Miss Garret. Remember, I don't make idle threats."

She sent him a look.

"You are absolutely ridiculous, did you know that?" Still, he waited, unmoved by her evident frustration. "Alright, fine. But answer me this question first. Why do you even care? And don't say curiosity, because that's the biggest load of…"

" _Madam_ ," he warned. "You know, I'm honestly surprised that a woman of your education could have such a foul mouth."

"You know, I'm not as pure and innocent as everyone likes to think I am."

"Are you suggesting that you have a darker side?"

The woman laughed at the suggestion.

"You'd be surprised."

"Well, I'd be flattered if I could have the privilege of knowing all the sides of you," he said suggestively.

Apparently, he couldn't stop thinking about last night either.

"Not _all_ of them," was her riposte.

"Why not?"

"Because there are some aspects of me that don't need to be known, even by you or anyone else for that matter. Besides, if I gave away all my secrets, I'd lose my mystery and that's half my charm."

"It would appear you and I are alike in more ways than one. However, you still have not answered my original question."

"And you, Count, have not answered mine. Why do you need me to verbally confirm whether or not I'm attracted to you? I don't see how that matters in the grand scheme of things."

"I merely wish to know for the sake of my pride, Miss Garret, nothing more."

"Why do I have a feeling that you are being totally serious?" she sighed, raking her fingers through her hair and tugging at the roots.

"Because I am."

Hera studied him for a few seconds in silence, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. He was up to something. But, he had technically answered her question, leaving her to answer his.

"Very well. Yes, I am attracted to you – physically and intellectually, but that's about it. And for the record, I never asked to be either," she informed him, pointing an accusing finger in his direction. "I never wanted this, it just happened. It's not like I have any control over that, anyway. It's all… hormones and pheromones. So don't go rubbing it in my face or making a mockery of me or using it against me – although what the hell! You'll probably just do that anyway because you're a walking textbook definition of an autocrat and you do as you please. But for the record, none of this is my fault. I've tried to talk myself out of it, but you won't give me a moment to even formulate a good enough argument."

His small grin suddenly widened.

"Thank you for being honest with me."

She threw her hands up into the air.

"Enough with the conceited smirks already! Lord, you are impossible," she groaned, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

"Well, Jane should be here in ten minutes or so to bring you some food. I'll leave you to yourself now," and he began to head toward the door.

"Wait!"

He shifted so he could face her.

"Yes?"

The wheels in Hera's mind began to turn as she studied his face for a moment, his body language, his eyes.

She suddenly realized that he was hiding something; she could sense it in his abrupt attempt at an exit, and all of the psychology and behavioral studies she had learned in the past started to validate her suspicions.

"You're not telling me something," she stated warily as she stood.

"I'm not?"

He was an excellent liar, but the occasional shifting of his body gave him away. It was a subtle thing, something she never should have picked up on, but she did.

"Why couldn't you wait until later this evening to talk to me about this honesty truce of ours?" came the guarded inquiry.

"I don't think you want me to share that information with you," he stated.

"Why not?"

"As enjoyable as it is to make you angry, I'm not sure I want to _evoke your wrath_ so early in the evening."

"What did you do, Count?" Hera asked him, her tone deadly serious.

That expression of his grew wolfish and the woman felt her stomach drop just a little.

Dracula knew better than to push his luck, but he couldn't help himself. He snaked his arm around Hera's waist and pulled her close to him, staring deep into her eyes while his other hand sank into her messy curls. He grabbed a fistful of that hair and gently tugged her head back so he could properly tower over her.

Hera's insides twisted and coiled into butterfly-filled knots as he continued to penetrate her soul with his gaze, as though he were looking for something, studying her. His stare made her skin crawl, memories from that all too realistic dream she had had only moments ago creeping back into her conscious mind. Liquid warmth pooled in her womb and threatened to ooze between her legs as she became aware of how his mouth was threatening to move in for a kiss.

"You know, you still haven't kissed me yet," he mentioned as his lips advanced, inch by torturous inch.

"You haven't given me a good enough reason to do so."

"Are you sure?" he purred, his fingers becoming more entangled in her hair, and he brushed the tip of his nose against hers. "Or are your fears of changing the future holding you back?"

She quivered in his arms and he leaned in a little closer so he could whisper in her ear.

"Although I must say, that imagination of yours is even filthier than I had anticipated. So explicit and so…. _delicious_. I can't help but wonder where a barely touched woman like yourself got half of those ideas from…"

Hera, who had been on the verge of mind-numbing arousal, snapped her eyes open, the daze he had put her in vanishing instantaneously as she realized – he _had_ been in her head when she was dreaming!

"Why you son of a-" but her words were stopped when he smashed his lips against hers, stealing her in a forceful, bruising kiss, just to spite her.

Hera struggled against him, trying to push him and his mouth away, but he had already wrapped his arms around her and she was coiled up in his death grip, forced to stay still as he ravaged her mouth selfishly.

"I can't wait to touch you like that in person," he breathed between kisses. "Although I think I'd prefer to use my tongue instead of my fingers," and before she could offer a retort, he quickly stole her mouth again.

His friendly hand rode up her side, drinking in the delectable curves until he reached the swell of her breast and he roughly pinched her, just so she'd become even more incensed with him, and it worked marvelously.

Hera growled indignantly, appalled that he had the audacity to touch her in such a way and embarrassed beyond belief that he had watched her entire dream, that he was aware of her darkest fantasies.

Her cheeks flushed in anger, humiliation, and undeniable lust and even though his audacious touch made her feel good, her anger was far more potent than anything else and with a powerful shove, she managed to push him away.

" _BASTARD_ _ **!**_ " she screamed at him, her face hot. "I _hate_ you!" and she slammed her fist into his chest, satisfied with his grunt of discomfort.

She may have been virtually helpless when it came to matching her strength to his, but she could throw one hell of a punch. If he wasn't immortal, he'd have bruised for sure.

"Well, I'm glad that we got that out of the way," was his apathetic reply.

"I'm not your toy, Dracula. Stop treating me like one!"

"I can treat you in whatever way I choose! It's not like you really even care to begin with! You may like to pretend you're better than the rest of your sex, my little spitfire, but you're not. You have the same impulses, the same lusts! You're just like the rest of them!" he insisted.

"Why are you so bloody misogynistic?" she challenged. "What did my sex ever do to you? If you want me to respect you, then I _demand_ the same consideration _from_ you!"

"You _demand_ respect from me?" he laughed. "Well, forgive me, Miss Garret, but you will never obtain it, no matter how hard you try. My respect for your _kind_ was lost centuries ago," and he turned towards the door, ill-tempered as this game he had been playing with her turned ugly fast.

She had struck a nerve and he was straining to keep himself in check. How _dare_ she speak to him like that! What surprised him even more was when she had grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, forcing him to look back at her.

"What the hell did Ilona do to you anyway?" she suddenly demanded.

Her question evidently threw him off his axis, his eyes betraying him as Hera realized that she had hit the nail right on the head. Against her better judgment, she chose to persist, figuring that there had to be a reason why he treated her the way he did, and by God, she was going to get to the bottom of this.

"You want me to be honest with you? Well Dracula, I want you to be honest with me, and you can start by telling me who Ilona was. What did she do to you? And why do you insist on being so chauvinistic?"

"That… that is none of your concern," he answered, shaken by her insight.

When he had mentioned Ilona's name to Hera a while back, he had assumed the woman had forgotten. Clearly, that wasn't the case.

Dracula attempted to open the door to escape, but Hera was having none of it. She kicked it shut and smacked his hand away, refusing to be so easily dismissed and determined to understand the reasons she knew deep down that he wouldn't give.

"Vladislaus, for the love of God, stop treating me like I'm some lesser creature and answer my bloody question!" the mortal raged, so livid that the color of her cheeks almost matched her hair.

Hera had shocked him again and he even stumbled back a little in surprise when she had addressed him by his given name. Although he vaguely recalled giving it to her when they had first met, he had been certain she had forgotten it.

Her memory _was_ as good as she said it was.

"What did you call me?" he whispered.

"Your name," she answered roughly, remnants of anger still present in her voice. "Yes, I know your real name, _Vladislaus_. Stop looking at me like I'm the Ghost of Christmas Future, for crying out loud!"

Dracula didn't say anything after that. He just stood there, staring blankly at her as hundreds of memories long forgotten filled his mind in a matter of moments, those brief seconds of tense silence feeling like years as Hera waited for him to say or do something.

During this silence, the young woman managed to calm down. Never before had she gotten so openly angry. Then again, never did she have much of a reason to be so before now. It would appear the vampire was bringing out some emotions she wasn't aware she even possessed.

But she'd learn over time that he'd bring out much more than just her temper.

Hera took a deep breath before deciding to break the Count from this evident spell of a reverie that the silence had placed on him.

"Vladislaus?" she called softly, deciding to use his real name so he'd understand how serious she was. His eyes fell upon her, but he didn't say anything. "Who was Ilona?" He said nothing. "You said you wanted us to be more honest and open with each other," she reminded him, hoping that would give her some reaction from him.

Well, it worked, but not in the way she had hoped. He took a deep breath before finally saying something.

"Ilona Szilágyi is none of your business," he answered with barely-restrained venom. "And don't you ever utter that harpy's name in my presence again," and he turned to the chair by the fireplace to grab his cloak.

"Are you serious?" Hera exclaimed. "You know I want more of an answer than that!" and she followed him over to the hearth as he pulled his cloak and his gloves on, turning toward the balcony window.

"I need to feed," was his lame excuse and he retreated from the room.

He knew perfectly well that his answer hadn't satisfied her; the look on her face had made that abundantly clear.

She watched him fly out into the early night sky, disappearing within the forests of the mountains before she stalked angrily over to the bureau to change her clothes.

Maybe the head housekeeper, Jane, knew something about this Ilona.

* * *

 **DUN DUN DUUUUUUUNNNNN! ;)**

 **Next two chapters go live on Friday morning, PST. In the meantime, let me know what you thought of the chapter and I'll see you in two days!**

 **-T**


	23. The Tale of Ilona Szilágyi - Part 1

**Greetings, my dear readers. I am a mix of emotions at present. These next two chapters** (especially the next one) **were quite difficult to get just right and a good many hours were dedicated to fine-tuning them. Your feedback on both would be highly appreciated.**

 **A most sincere and heartfelt thank you to** She-Devil Red **,** Scarlet Empress **,** Bloodsired **,** the invisible reader **,** alexc1209 **,** 12345678910 **,** RegencyPoet **,** MercyShadow **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** Nyx-Arae **, and** loveneverdies115 **for reviewing chapter 22. Your feedback was most welcome and I so do love hearing from you guys. Your commentary always brightens my day!**

 **Not much to say on this chapter specifically. A few minor things have changed from the original, but nothing of serious note.**

 **Forgive any errors I may have overlooked and enjoy!**

* * *

 **XXIII**

 _ **The Tale of Ilona Szilágyi  
**_ _ **Part I**_

Hera was dressed in a matter of minutes before she emerged from her bedroom, storming down the hall with the express purpose of questioning Jane and perhaps downing a generous helping of alcohol for breakfast. She had never been much of a drinker before, usually only sticking to her wine at dinner and that was on rare occasions. But since her arrival here, she had grown to crave the stuff – not to the point of being continuously inebriated, but enough to mute her overactive brain for a spell.

Luckily for her, Dracula had the biggest collection of liquors she had ever seen, even though he had little to no use for the stuff himself. He had always been more of a collector than a consumer.

Hera entered the kitchen through the dining room and was warmly greeted by the many servants that were all finishing up their early evening meal before heading to work on their daily chores. Jane noticed Hera enter the room and she greeted the mortal with a broad smile.

"It would appear the master wasn't jesting when he said he had planned on waking you up himself this evening. I'll take it from the ruckus upstairs earlier that this awakening wasn't entirely pleasant?"

"I swear, I've never been treated so abominably in the whole of my life," Hera replied, taking a seat at the island in the center of the kitchen after accepting the offered glass of wine with a relieved thank-you.

"Well, I'm pleased to find you smiling despite the start of your evening. You truly are such a good-natured woman. My mistresses could learn a thing or two from you, though if you quote me on that, I'll deny it vehemently."

Hera laughed.

"Well, staying upset with the Count is an exhaustive business – I'd rather preserve my energy for the more meaningful battle on the horizon."

Jane placed a plate of food in front of Hera and pulled up a seat beside her as the kitchen finished emptying out of servants, leaving the two women with some privacy.

"So, what did the master do this time?" Jane asked with a bemused grin.

The mortal wasn't quite certain where to begin, let alone what to omit. She had taken to talking regularly with Jane, confiding in the woman when it came to her many frustrations, observations, and the like. Doing so had proven cathartic and the housekeeper, though fiercely loyal to her master, was a wise and trustworthy listener.

"Well, I'm sure you heard about what happened last night in the library," Hera began.

"The entire household knows about it," she smiled. "You upset him greatly, you know. He was gone for hours afterwards."

"He deserved it," Hera answered irritably. "Well, to make a long story short, we fought last night, and then I woke up this morning and he was in my room. We talked civilly for all of five minutes before we were at each other's throats again. Jane, you have no idea how frustrating it is with him always messing with my head, rummaging through my thoughts whenever he wants, and then mocking me for them. Sometimes I just want to hit him like I did last night."

"You struck the master?" Jane asked with evident surprise. "And he didn't stop you?"

"He didn't see it coming. But I wound up regretting it later. I swear, nothing good lasts for long around that man."

"So what happened when he woke you? Emma told me earlier that she could hear you two yelling while she was in the armory."

"Another fight," Hera explained, resting her elbow on the counter so her hand could support her head as she stared down at the food on her plate. "I don't understand that man, Jane. He just… he has absolutely no respect for anyone. For being the supposed lover of lovers, the way he treats women in particular is appalling. It's like – he can be cordial and gracious and kind and charming if it suits him, but when it really comes down it, he's just… he can be cruel and hypocritical, expecting openness and honesty, yet not giving it in return. I don't know why his brides put up with him. The sex can't be _that_ good."

"Oh! That reminds me, I'm supposed to bring those three some blood for the evening. Care to join me?" and Jane got up from her seat to fetch two bottles of blood, along with three crystal glasses, and she placed them onto a beautiful tray. "We can talk as we head upstairs."

Hera nodded in consent as she grabbed a hunk of bread to munch on, following Jane out of the kitchen and into the hall.

"So, you were saying that the master has no respect for anyone," the housekeeper cued.

"Yes. That was part of the reason why we were arguing. I asked him why he acted like that and he got upset."

"Naturally so. You have to understand – nobody questions the master. If they do, they tend to apologize profusely for it afterwards. He's not used to people like you… a woman who challenges everything he says and refuses to bend to his every whim. Your defiance is both a deterrent and an attractant."

"I just don't understand how any person could expect complete and utter devotion from another when they're not even willing to give something in return."

"You have to remember, you are from a very different time and are accustomed to a different brand of treatment, just as he is," Jane offered sympathetically. "Perhaps in the master's mind he feels that he has given you enough already?"

"Well, it's not for me," Hera insisted. "I've had enough of being in one-sided relationships filled with secrets. I want honesty, Jane – an openness of mind _and_ heart."

"I'm getting the impression that there's a secret in particular of the master's that is the cause for this tension between the two of you. May I ask what it is?"

"He refuses to tell me anything about this Ilona Szilágyi. Do you know anything about her?" Hera inquired, looking over to Jane. The housekeeper's eyes betrayed her instantly, but instead of acknowledging or denying anything, Jane chose to stay silent. Hera huffed impatiently. "Apparently everyone knows about that mystery female, except me. I asked him about her, you know."

"What did he say?" Jane asked, trying her best to act as normal as possible.

"Said it was none of my business, and then he left before I could even question him further about it."

"Well, if the master thinks it's none of your business, then I suppose that means he doesn't feel you need to know," Jane replied, holding the heavy tray with one hand as she opened the door to the bride's salon.

"But I…" Hera began to protest, but Jane interrupted.

"No, Hera," she said firmly, placing the tray on a nearby table and filling the glasses. "I know you want to, and if this were anything else, I just might encourage you on it. But believe me when I say this, do not press him on it. It will only make him angrier with you," and Jane handed Verona the first glass, the eldest bride having perked up on the mentioning of her master.

"What would make the master angry with Miss Garret, Jane?" she asked with noted grace.

"She was asking questions about…"

"Nothing," Hera quickly interjected, silencing Jane before she could tell Verona, as well as the other two brides who were now listening intently to the three of them. "It's nothing of importance apparently."

Jane nodded her head and excused herself from the room, and Hera was about to follow when Verona called out to her.

"Hera?" The mortal turned. "Why don't you come and sit with us a while. The master has been keeping you all to himself as of late, and we'd like to enjoy your company as well." The bride patted on the large cushion beside her, motioning for her to sit. "Come."

"I wouldn't want to impose …" she began, but the sudden glowing in Verona's eyes told her to sit and be silent about it, so she reluctantly obeyed.

Truth be told, Hera's relationship with the Count's brides had become rather strained over the last few weeks and after her wake-up call earlier, she really wasn't in the mood for any more vampires today. She just wanted to lock herself in her room, or better yet, that ballroom that Marishka had shown her, and enjoy some solitude. But, from the looks of it, that wouldn't be happening tonight.

"How are you enjoying your stay?" Verona inquired cordially, her tone matching her master's so perfectly, it was eerie.

"Well, as wonderful and impressive as this place is, I confess, things could be better."

"How so, my dear?" the bride asked, her voice strangely soothing. But Hera knew what she was up to and she sent the woman a disapproving look.

"Well, some actual privacy of mind would be a great place to start," she answered pointedly.

Verona immediately stopped trying to rummage through Hera's head and she returned to her glass.

Each one of Dracula's brides had grown suspicious of Hera. Those couple of instances in the last twenty-four hours especially when their master had been in the human's room were effectively blocked from their view and senses – all conversations and occurrences – and though they knew better than to question their master's will, they couldn't help but be wary of his secrecy.

To make matters worse, he hadn't bedded any of them in nearly two weeks.

"What were you and Jane talking about?" Aleera asked, not liking the tense silence.

"Nothing you could help me with."

"If it has to do with the master, you'd be surprised how much help I could be," she replied, her eyes glowing. Hera stared at the cushion beneath her, not wanting to look into Aleera's eyes.

"I'd rather not have your assistance, thank you. I'm sure you have better things to occupy your time with, anyway."

"What is it, Hera?" Verona reiterated, grabbing the mortal's chin and gently forcing her to look into her eyes. Hera yanked her head out of the woman's grip in the calmest manner she possibly could before taking a deep breath, mustering her courage to do what her instincts were telling her not to.

"Who is Ilona?" she finally asked the three women, studying each of them carefully as to assess their reactions. They were all silent and very grave… just as Jane had been.

"What did the master tell you?" Marishka asked carefully.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"There's probably a reason for it," the blonde said, directing her attention to Verona, who nodded in agreement.

"Yes. He probably doesn't want her to know."

"Know what?" Hera asked, but the two women ignored her and kept talking to each other.

"If he tells her a little bit, he'd have to divulge everything else," Verona explained. "And you remember how he got the last time we compelled him to revisit that part of his past?"

"But why won't he tell her? I think she has a right to the truth," Marishka insisted.

"What truth?" Hera asked, getting irritated with the two of them.

"If he wanted us to do so in his behalf, he would have said something," Verona replied.

"What are you two talking about? Who the hell is Ilona?" Hera snapped.

"Ilona Szilágyi was the master's second wife when he was a mortal," Aleera suddenly explained. Both Verona and Marishka gasped in shock.

"Aleera! The master clearly does not desire for Miss Garret to know! How dare you defy his wishes?" Verona chastised, but the woman just brushed her off.

"Oh please, Verona. We had to force it out of him last time and it took us years to do it. Besides, she asked _who_ Ilona was, and I told her. I haven't told her the rest of the story!"

"Ilona was his wife?" Hera clarified, still surprised by the revelation. Verona hid her face in irritation as Aleera stood from her seat and moved to sit closer to Hera.

"Yes, Ilona was his wife," she replied.

"What happened to her?" Hera asked.

Aleera opened her mouth to begin the tale, but Verona put an end to that quickly.

"Not another word, Aleera!" the eldest bride snapped. "You have said quite enough! If the master wished for her to know, he would do so. You should not be so presumptuous as to divulge secrets that are not your own."

"But-" Hera began to defend, but Verona's vexation was soon turned toward her and the mortal swallowed hard.

"And you are not to say a word of this to him! Do not push him on the subject and do not mention this discussion, do you understand me? That woman was vile and what she did to the master was deplorable in every sense of the word. That is all you need to know."

Hera grudgingly agreed to stay silent on the subject and she eventually excused herself from the room, not wanting to sit with those three any longer.

As soon as she had left, she wandered the halls of the north tower for a good hour or so in solitude. She pondered the piece of information she had received from Aleera, also digging up whatever facts or pieces of information she had learned on Dracula in the past… or future, whichever it was.

She forced herself to recall all the tales, all the myths and legends, folklore, and history she possibly could and there was only one Ilona Szilágyi she could think of: the Princess Consort of Wallachia, daughter of the regent of Hungary, Michael Szilágyi, Voivode of Transylvania… and a Báthory on her mother's side.

Hera halted abruptly mid-step as she started to recall the names, the dates, the places, the rumors. There was inherent madness in the Báthory line. Had Dracula's second wife fallen victim to that madness? Who was Ilona really, and why did the Count hate her so? Hera tapped her chin thoughtfully, her hand on her hip as she stared hard at the ground, digging through her mind, searching for some sort of clue.

 _The library_.

Dracula had nearly every book known to man in that library, maybe she could find an encyclopedia or some sort of history on the woman… maybe even a journal? It was a stretch, but for the first time in months, Hera felt as though she had a mission to accomplish, a job to fulfill, a challenge to overcome… and the feeling of purpose was exhilarating as she ran through the halls and up the familiar flights of stairs, bursting into the empty library.

She began with the first floor, glancing at the titles of every book, and she'd pull out the ones that appeared to be promising, stacking them up on the desk she planned on using. Two hours later, Jane entered the library with a tray of food for Hera, since the woman had taken to the nocturnal lifestyle like the rest of the vampires in the house. The servant gasped in surprise to see the mountains of volumes in front of her, an exceptionally large piece of work on the mortal's lap as she spilled over it, absolutely engrossed.

"Miss Garret, what _are_ you doing?" she exclaimed, thoroughly bewildered. "I hope you plan to put those books away in their proper places when you're done."

Hera, unable to look up from the book she was currently reading, waved her hand at Jane.

"I'm just studying up on something," she answered mindlessly.

"On what, might I ask?" Jane asked conspicuously as she placed the tray of food down on the desk… or what little was left of it since it was flooded with books. Hera's eyes never left the page.

"Just brushing up on my Hungarian and Romanian history, that's all."

Although the mortal's excuse was only half correct, it sent Jane smiling like no other.

"Oh, well now, I'll leave you to your books then. Would you, uh… like me to inform the master? I'm sure he'd be more than happy to talk to you about his country. He's always been very patriotic and knows everything there is to know about Transylvania and the surrounding states, the various families and noble lineages..."

"No, I'd rather read undisturbed, thank you."

So Jane nodded, informed her that if she needed anything that all she had to do was ask, and she left the copper-haired woman to her solitude.

Hera spent the next two to three weeks in the library, rarely leaving the area unless it was to sleep in her room instead of on the sofa, and she never left without a book in hand.

She saw Dracula every now and then, but not as often as she had in the past. He had taken to hiding in his office, not to be disturbed. If he did ever emerge from his self-imposed solitary confinement, it was to feed, check on Hera, or bed his brides, who were presently in heat. Or at least that's what Hera had overhead – the gossip between servants had always been a fascinating thing to her.

She loved how the Count's subjects would good-humoredly complain to Hera about how whiny and persistent their mistresses were and how particularly tense their master had become, though over what Hera could care less. But she stayed out of his hair in the one way she knew how, and although Dracula secretly missed conversing and spending time alone with the woman, he was eternally grateful that she hadn't been causing any trouble lately. It gave him the time and energy he required to sate his demanding brides – a task that was a challenge in and of itself.

But what none of them knew or suspected was what Hera was truly up to. Aleera was the only one who had her suspicions and, as she usually did, she kept them to herself.

On a particular evening when Hera had fallen asleep in the library again, the redheaded bride slipped into the room and began to thumb through some of the notes Hera had been keeping. Apparently, the mortal was looking up any information she could possibly find on Ilona and the Szilágyi line, and from what Aleera had gathered, Hera had found really nothing of interest.

The mortal was looking in all the wrong places.

But instead of intervening, Aleera remained silent, leaving Hera to her fruitless search.

Soon, three weeks had passed and Hera had practically torn the library apart from top to bottom trying to find something… anything! She did discover pages upon pages of genealogical information on Dracula's line and the Szilágyi's and the Báthory's, and some random offshoot that led all the way back to the Gens Valeria – but nothing of real use. Most of the information was either vague, irrelevant, or a repeat of what Hera already knew.

It was at this point that Hera realized she had hit a dead-end, and as she put the final few books away, she found herself feeling more lost and confused than she had when she had originally started this wild goose-chase.

What she wanted now was a hearty meal, a hot bath, and maybe twenty-four hours of undisturbed sleep.

Hera glanced over at one of the doors that lined the wall of the top level of the library. She knew where each door led, except one – the room which Dracula had forbidden her to ever enter. Now, after the past three weeks of her maddening search, she wished more than ever that the stupid door wasn't locked so she could at least sneak a peek.

In fact, from the very beginning, Hera had suspected that the answers she sought were behind that door and now more than ever was she certain of that.

Of course the answers she sought would be in the one part of the house that Dracula had openly and rather passionately forbidden her to enter.

It was almost sunrise now and most of the castle had gone to rest for the upcoming day. Hera yawned. Perhaps she should go to sleep too. Like for the next few days. The idea sounded splendid, so with her mind made up, she began to make her way down to the first floor of the library, ready to leave when she noticed the last person she had expected to see was seated on the edge of a table.

"Giving up already?" Aleera taunted. "And I so enjoyed watching you run around in circles."

Hera rolled her eyes and headed toward the door.

"Shouldn't you be in a coffin or something?" she bit. "The sun will be rising soon."

"I'm not a half-wit like my sisters, mortal!" Aleera snapped.

Hera stopped abruptly before she could reach the door and with glance to the heaven's and a silent plea for patience, she turned around to face Dracula's youngest and most disagreeable bride.

"What do you want, Aleera?"

"I'm going to help you."

"With what?"

"You've been hunting for information about Ilona, haven't you?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Did it ever occur to you that you've been looking in the wrong place?" Aleera asked, moving slowly towards the mortal woman who looked to be on the brink of exhaustion.

"Aleera, I don't mean to be rude, but I don't have the patience or energy for some stupid guessing game right now. Could you please just get to the point? I'd really like to go to bed."

The bride stopped beside her master's new desk, as he had demolished his other one, and she removed a leather-bound book from the top drawer. The tome looked, in a word: ancient.

"What's that and how did you get it?"

"Never mind how I got it. The point is, in its pages are the answers to all your questions," Aleera explained, handing the book to Hera.

It had the Drăculești house insignia on it, the dragon with a curling tail and outstretched wings. Hera accepted Aleera's offering and examined it closely.

The book was old – very old. She ran her hand over the insignia with something that looked suspiciously like reverence.

"Read it," Aleera encouraged.

Hera, having forgotten about how tired she was, sat down on the arm of a sofa as she gingerly untied the leather strap that kept the volume fastened shut. Pulling back the leather cover, her fingers hovered over the first page. It was written in an elegant, but distinctly masculine script that looked vaguely familiar.

"It reads: _December 1477 – I can endure the burden of these memories no longer. They haunt my every waking moment, every shadow and every dream. Her face, those dark eyes, that body, the poisonous words she whispered into my ears – they torment me. She has taken everything from me and now I am left alone in this world. My father, or rather the man I choose to remember as my father, once told me that family was everything, that one's blood and heritage, the legacy they left when they returned to the dust of the earth – that's what made a man great. If his philosophy is true, then I am no great man, for my own flesh and blood have denounced me. My own brother has betrayed me. And my son… my Mihnea, stolen from me by the very same demon that took everything else from me. I shall never forgive her. Because of her, I am alone and with no hope of redemption…._ "

Hera finished reading the single page and her eyes went wide as it dawned on her what this was.

"This – this is written in Dracula's hand." She looked up at Aleera. "Where did you get this?"

"In a safe place," the bride answered with a mischievous lilt in her voice. Hera quickly shoved the book back into Aleera's hands, almost fearfully.

"I shouldn't read his journal! Those things are private! He'd never forgive me."

Aleera rolled her eyes.

"I hand you the key to finding out who Ilona is, and you refuse it? It's technically the master telling you himself… it's just in writing, that's the only difference."

"It's still wrong, Aleera. Wherever you got it, please, put it back."

The bride shrugged and began to head up the main staircase within the library. Hera, too curious for her own good, followed after Aleera, eager to see where the book had come from. The bride stopped in front of the door that the Count had forbidden Hera to ever open and reaching behind a nearby tapestry, Aleera revealed a key hanging up on the wall.

She unlocked the door with just a hint of ceremony and she entered the darkened room as Hera remained on the outside, struggling to suppress the impulse to shove Aleera out of the way and snatch the journal like some ravenous beast. After the bride exited from the room and sealed the door, she put the key away, eyes fixed on Hera as she did so.

"Just in case you change your mind," the bride said before wishing Hera a simple and mildly disturbing "sweet dreams, mortal" and then she made her exit.

Hera waited a few seconds before leaving the library, heading up the stairs to her room. The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon when she finally entered her private chambers.

Oh, the temptation to go back into the library, to read the Count's journal.

Maybe she could… No. No, she wouldn't do it. She hated it when Dracula rummaged through her mind to get information from her. Rummaging through his diary was practically the same thing and she had made a goal not to sink to his level anymore.

As she soaked in the tub, the hot water lapping against her skin, she desperately tried to convince herself that reading Dracula's private journal without his consent was wrong. But no matter how wrong she knew it was, Hera couldn't keep her mind off of the page she had read.

She was exhausted and longed to just go to sleep, but her curiosity wouldn't let her.

 _M_ _aybe I could just sneak down there during the day and skim through some of it… see who Ilona was and such, and then put it right back and go to bed. No one will ever know!_

Well, Hera had always been a master at talking herself in and out of things, and she had just convinced herself into doing what her gut was screaming at her not to do. After bathing, she dressed, grabbed a blanket, and then silently slipped out of her room, heading back to the library like a moth to a flame.

The house was deathly still during the day. The drapes, which were usually open wide, had been closed tightly, forbidding the sunlight any entrance. Fortunately the halls remained lit with candles so she could see where she was going, although she knew the route to that room by heart.

Within moments, Hera had slipped back into the library, shutting the doors behind her as quietly as she could. The room seemed very different during the day with the sun streaming in through the high-paned windows, but the shadows of the rows and rows of shelves were eerie to the woman as she made her way up the stairs to the top level, straight toward that forbidden door.

She stopped momentarily, her heart pounding wildly in her chest from the anxiety that was coursing through her veins.

This wasn't right – what she was about to do. But she had to know. The historian in her demanded it. So, with her mind made up, she removed the key from its hiding place.

The click of the lock sounded ten times louder than it really was, and for a second, Hera almost abandoned her plan for cowardice, but she forced herself to commit, and when the smell of ancient dust and yellowed paper reached her nostrils, Hera was lost as she silently slipped into the small, circular chamber, sealing the door behind her.

* * *

 **So what did you think of Aleera showing Hera the journal? Was she doing it to be helpful or maybe she has ulterior motives?**

 **If you have any questions or feedback to give, please leave a review!**


	24. The Tale of Ilona Szilágyi - Part 2

**For my veteran readers: This is another BRAND NEW chapter. Although the beginning and end are similar to the original, the real meat of the chapter has been completely rewritten from scratch.**

 **In the original, Dracula's wife was a woman named Lucy Wilhelmina Alan. The name was an obvious play on the two female characters in Stoker's novel** (as I was trying to tie the novel into the story) **and to sum up why the Count hated her so much - while he was on a campaign against the Turks, he left Lucy in the care of Van Helsing and returned home to discover the two of them going at it like rabbits in his marriage bed. To add insult to injury, the child she happened to be carrying wasn't even Vlad's, but Gabriel's and it was revealed that Lucy never really loved Vlad, that she had essentially used him to get to Van Helsing because she loved him more. And then it was just all downhill from there.**

 **That story-line has been completely scrapped.**

 **What you have before you now is brand-spanking new. On top of that, a great deal of the contents are based in actual history. The research I did for this chapter specifically was rather extensive and though for the sake of the story, not everything is 100% accurate, much of what you will find is heavily rooted in fact - from the general events of Vlad's life to the familial relationships and friendships mentioned in this chapter.**

 **His first wife I made up because I couldn't find anything solid on who she actually was, but Ilona Szilágyi was an actual person and she really was Vlad's second wife. She was also connected to the Báthory line** (on her mother's side) **, and the familial relationships she has in this chapter are true to her actual lineage.**

 **Also, the Gens Valeria is a real genealogical line. Now, unfortunately, I wasn't able to completely trace Vlad's line back to the Gens Valeria via specific persons, although because I'm a huge nerd, I seriously tried, but I only got to Thocomerius aka: Tihomir, the father of Basarab I** (so mid-to-late 1200s) **and then I hit a wall. Of course, after some further digging, it looks like on Basarab's mother's side, there appears to be a connection to Marcus Valerius** **Messalla Corvinus** (who was born in 64 BC and has been directly linked to the Wallachian-Hungarian family of Corvin, which is where Matthias Corvinus (whose father was János Hunyadi) ally of Vlad Dracul comes into play) **.**

 **BUT - the point of this convoluted and very confusing history lesson: there is a very strong chance that Dracula was actually connected to the Gens Valeria... but I lack the free time to draw the actual lines from person to person.**

 **My ultra-nerdiness and love of history aside, everything else in this chapter is the result of my over-active imagination.**

 **I spent many hours planning, writing, and perfecting this chapter and though I've worked hard to get it to where it is now, I could not have done it without the assistance of my beta,** _sleepy bibliophile_ **. She was instrumental in the fine-tuning process and I owe a great deal to her. I'd also like to thank** _RegencyPoet_ **for the sanity check/final run-through. I feel really good about how this chapter turned out thanks to the two of you. I hope the rest of you enjoy it!**

* * *

 **DISCLAIMER/TRIGGER WARNING: although it is only briefly mentioned/suggested in a single line, there is an insinuation of rape contained in this chapter. It is not spelled out or explicitly depicted, but if you are sensitive to even the mere suggestion of sexual violence, please proceed with caution. I'm probably making a mountain out of a molehill by even bringing this up in the first place, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.**

* * *

 **XXIV**

 _ **The Tale of Ilona Szilágyi  
**_ _ **Part II**_

What would appear as an overpowering stench of yellowing pages, dust at least a half an inch thick, and antediluvian mothballs, was like a heavenly aroma of ancient and unknown history to Hera.

The space was circular in shape and it wasn't very large. A counter or desk of sorts lined the circumference of the space, as did a series of shelves, each one overflowing with books, scrolls, and small wooden boxes varying in size and shape. The room only had one window – a skylight that allowed the sun to stream through the filthy glass, permitting Hera's eyes the view of some ghastly looking spider webs, but luckily no spiders… that she could see anyway.

She perused through the rather small chamber with profound interest, her fingers hovering over the articles within but touching none of them, as if afraid to disturb the ages of settled dust. After soaking it all in, Hera noticed what she had come here for: the Count's personal journal. It lay face up on top of the desk, the engraved dragon silently begging her to inspect its pages.

So, surrendering to temptation, she carefully picked up the book and sat down on the only chair in the tiny room. She began to read aloud, very softly to herself, the words on the pages possessing a power of their own, for as she read, the contents within seemed to appear most vividly within her mind.

"… _I was born in the winter of 1422 in the city of Sighișoara, in the heart of my beloved Transylvania. My mother was the Princess Cneajna of Moldavia and my father – Vlad II, Voivode of Wallachia and the son of the great Mircea the Elder, of the House of Basarab._

 _Upon the year of my birth, my father became the first of the Drăculești line when he was vested into the Order of the Dragon, a sacred fellowship of knights sworn to defend Christendom against the filthy Turks and heretics that threatened the peace of our country._

 _My father, when I was a child, was the greatest of men. He raised me to understand who I was – a prince in my own right, a member of the sovereign house of Basarab – one of the first rulers of Romania. When I was seven years of age, I could trace my line all the way back to the Gens Valeria – a patrician family of ancient Rome, a line of kings and nobles._

 _I, Vladislaus Drăculea, was destined to lead and to rule."_

Hera skipped over a few pages of Dracula's review of his lineage before continuing.

"… _I was favored among my elder half-brothers until the youngest of us, Radu, was born. But I was determined to maintain my father's approval, to bring honor to the name of "Vlad" and to the household of the Drăculești._

 _During the first reign of my father, we moved to Târgoviște, the capital of Wallachia. It was there that I received the first part of my education as the pupil of the best scholars that money could buy – some Romanian and others commissioned directly from Constantinople herself._

 _I was cultivated in the classical arts and philosophy, languages, sciences, mathematics, geography, and combat. I was a disciplined child, studious, profoundly patriotic, and the pride of my father. I did whatever I could to please him._

 _When I was eleven years of age, my father's first reign came to an end when rival factions in league with the Hungarian kingdom managed to overthrow him. But my father cared more about his position of power than he did about his own country, so he turned to our enemy, the Ottomans. With their support, he would be able to reclaim the throne, but only if he paid tribute to the Sultan._

 _I was thirteen years old when my father sent Radu and me away. He told us that we were to receive further education there, but I knew what we were – political hostages. My mother wept when they took us and had I known that that was the last time I would ever see her alive, I would have let her hold me a little longer._

 _I swore to her that I would look after Radu, and for a time during our imprisonment I did. But my brother was always weak. Although I embraced the education I received there – the lessons in logic, the Quran, warfare, horsemanship, and the Turkish language and their works of literature – I hated my captors._

 _But Radu…_

 _He embraced them as his own and they praised him for it._

 _I despised Radu for how easily he had betrayed his homeland, how he would openly make a mockery of our father, and how the Turks would laugh and laugh. They may have indoctrinated my brother, but they would not do so with me. I was punished for my impudence often…"_

It was here that Hera had to stop reading aloud as her eyes devoured the Count's explanation of how he was beaten and tortured, and she could tell by reading between the lines that those punishments had traumatized him. He claimed to have been above their brainwashing, but there was one thing Dracula had certainly adopted from the Turks –

Their taste for sadism and inflicting fear in the hearts of their enemies.

"… _At last I was free of the Turks,"_ the narrative went on and Hera continued to read aloud softly to herself. _"It was around this time that I met a man by the name of Matthias Corvinus, the son of János Hunyadi, the King of Hungary. Being the ambitious man that I was, I naturally befriended Corvinus right away._

 _My father, having been driven to illness with the passing of my mother and the loss of Radu to the Ottomans, relinquished his throne and went into exile in the village of Visceria. Under the instruction of Corvinus, who I came to view as a dear friend, we spread the word that my father had died – though it was untrue – but this granted me the opportunity to take my rightful place on my father's throne as Voivode._

 _My father's final wish before his exile was that I marry and continue the Drăculești legacy. Before he left, he had written me a letter, informing me of a betrothal between myself and one Katarina Mușatin of Moldova, of the House of Mușat. I naturally agreed to my father's terms, still eager to please him, and Katarina and I were married a short time after my arrival home._

 _I didn't meet my intended until the day we were married. She was a lovely woman with gentle features and a countenance of innocence and serenity, even with her nervousness – which in truth matched my own. Although I never loved her, I grew to care for her and we became excellent companions. Our only son, Mihnea, was born to us precisely nine months after our wedding and I never could have been more proud in that moment when I first held him in my arms…."_

Hera paused once again so she could wrack her brain, trying to recall why the name _Mihnea_ was so familiar to her. It didn't take long for her to remember why – Mihnea, the first son of Vlad III and his (until now) unnamed first wife, was in fact Mihnea cel Rău of Romanian lore. The same Mihnea who became the Voivode of Wallachia for a short year before the boyars ejected him.

In fact, as Hera dug through her brain for the old facts and histories that she had read so long ago, she began to recall Mihnea's cruelties and how they mirrored that of his father and it made her curious for the author of this journal did not strike her as the vicious type – at least at this point in the story.

Hera continued to read on – engrossed in the account of how the Sultan demanded tribute from Dracula, that tribute including his son; of how Dracula refused the demands of his enemy, nailing the turbans of the Sultan's envoys to their heads before sending the corpses back with his reply.

She read how he joined forces with Corvinus and gained domination over the Danube; of the man Hamza Bey who was sent by the Sultan to "take care of the Dracula problem"; and how the Count – being the military genius that he was – launched a brilliant surprise attack, slaughtering the one-thousand cavalry when they were traveling through the narrow pass north of Giurgiu.

She devoured the description of how the Count had all of the corpses impaled, with Hamza on the highest stake to "show his rank", and how the impaled bodies of his enemies appeared to him like a forest of the dead. And though his enemies would spread vicious lies about him, he could still sleep well at night because at least his son and wife were safe.

It was around this time that Dracula's story took a notable turn in tone. During this part of the tale, the Count was celebrating a victory in Corvinus' home and it was here that Hera was finally permitted a "view" of the infamous Ilona Szilágyi. As Hera read, she found her voice growing unconsciously softer and softer, as if a part of her was fearful that simply reading about the woman would somehow awaken her from the dead.

"… _It was late 1461 when our paths crossed, during that evening of celebrating. Matthias introduced me to his cousin, the bewitching Ilona Szilágyi. Oh, if only I had known then what I know now. If only I had had the strength to resist her pull, the wisdom to pay heed to the warnings and the rumors. But I was a young, ignorant fool._

 _Márkus, a dear friend of mine and Matthias', told me of the rumors – that Ilona practiced witchcraft and that she had managed to seduce many a man. Though Ilona looked every part the temptress, all I could see in that moment was her beauty, and I was in the middle of her spell before I even knew she had begun to weave it._

 _She came to me that night, after the success of the Hamza campaign, having listened to her cousin and uncle recount the tale at length for the duration of that evening. I should have suspected from the beginning what her intentions were, and though my marriage vows to Katarina screamed in my head to oust this Jezebel, I could not._

 _I took her that night, which was exactly what she had wanted, and I quickly realized that she was no virgin. She knew what she was doing more so than I and it wasn't long until it was I beneath her – she the master and I the helpless slave._

 _I awoke in the morning with her naked beauty by my side. My chambers had become a disarray of clutter and confusion, of broken furniture, torn linens, and spilled wine. My skin was littered with the markings of her nails, and the sting of those thin scratches haunted me. She awoke with every intention of seducing me once again, but my sober mind permitted me the strength to reject her advances._

 _I had never seen a more terrifying woman before._

 _I could see behind her sickly sweet smile that she was furious and she touched me when I told her not to, whispered into my ear how she longed to bear my sons, that though my thoughts were at present filled with my wife, that she could see the lust lurking in my heart. Although I could have very easily been unfaithful to my wife a second time, my mind turned to my son, my Mihnea, how I had told him that real men honored and respected the women in their lives._

 _I could not be a hypocrite. Not again._

 _So I pushed her away from me and threw her out of the room._

 _Her true nature came through when I slammed the door in her face. Despite her state of undress, she screamed at me from the hall, swearing that I'd live to regret my actions. Naturally, I dismissed her – perhaps a little more coldly than I should have, but I would not give her what she wanted._

 _And I will live to regret ever surrendering to her in the first place._

 _Not one week later, I received word that Katarina had died unexpectedly. When I pressed the physicians for details surrounding her demise, they could give me no real explanation. There were no signs of illness or poison or murder. She was just… gone._

 _I received word that same day that my son had also gone missing. His room was in disarray, as if there had been a struggle, and though I dedicated weeks to searching for him, the trail ran cold._

 _He was gone – my dear boy."_

"No," Hera whispered emphatically to the pages. "No, Vlad, he wasn't killed! Mihnea lived!"

But her protests were in vain.

The Dracula of old could not hear her and reading of the pain he felt – the agony of a parent forced to endure the belief that his child was dead. She had never witnessed such sorrow before. The Count's history continued on for several more pages as he glossed over those weeks of despair and anger and how with the start of the New Year, he had hoped to move on from the tragedy. But Hera could already guess the ending of this tale and the anxiety sent her stomach into uncomfortable knots as she held the book closer to her person, her tear-filled eyes pouring over the pages.

The journal next described the beginning months of 1462.

There was an account of Dracula crossing the Danube with Matthias Corvinus and of Dracula's campaign against the Turks. She then read how he gained access to the Ottoman camp by disguising himself as a Sipahi, and using the fluent Turkish he had learned as a teenager, he infiltrated and destroyed the camps almost single-handedly.

"… _I should have detected the warning signs then when Matthias did not join me in this fight,"_ the narrative continued. _"But I was too blind in my rage and grief to see what was happening around me. I blindly trusted those who I thought were my friends, and everywhere else, all I could see were enemies…"_

The journal then gave a detailed description of the night he had invaded the camps, of the men, women, and children he slaughtered – peasants and nobles alike, young and old, it did not matter. Over twenty-four thousand Turkish souls were murdered that night; their homes ablaze as their blood ran like rivers through the streets and the black smoke choked the mountain air.

The Count's depiction was unlike any history book Hera had ever read. She could almost smell the stench of death, hear the screams of the dying as their broken bodies were impaled on heavy spikes – the blood and the darkness. The woman's heart broke for the Count as she continued to read. His pain was so tangible, so real to her and she wished more than anything that this would be the extent of his darkness, but it became so much worse.

With the slaughtering of the Turks, the Sultan retaliated by raising an army of nearly 100,000 men and sending Dracula's younger brother – the now thoroughly brainwashed Radu – to take care of the Impaler. Meeting his baby brother on the battlefield was something that evidently shook the Count at the time, driving him farther down the path of a sadistic insanity as he struggled to cope with the betrayal.

The account of the famous Night Attack in Târgovişte during the summer of 1462 was a thrilling read, especially since that battle was not only a huge victory for the Count, but the praise and adoration he received from his people proved good for his state of being and Hera found that this eased her mind immensely.

It was at this point that the Count had reached the height of his political and warfare career. He was finally on the mend from the death of his wife and the loss of his son and just when Dracula – and even Hera – were certain that things were finally on the up and up, Ilona entered the picture once again.

"… _She came to me one night, appearing in my tent like some kind of succubus or enchantress. At first, I had believed myself to be dreaming, but her touch was real, as was her voice. She was scantily dressed, clearly for the purpose of seducing me with her stunning figure, but I had had my suspicions that my wife and son's deaths tied back to her in some way and I refused to become the victim of her manipulation once again._

 _I asked her what she wanted of me, why she insisted on tormenting me with her presence and her atrocious behavior, and she said that she had seen an angel in a dream. This angel had told her that through her, I could become the most powerful, feared, and world-renowned king this earth had ever seen, and that my name would be whispered in horror and reverence for centuries to come. She told me that all she wanted was to be my servant, the vessel in which to germinate my seed, the mother of my future sons._

 _I nearly succumbed to her once again, so long had it been since I had enjoyed the flesh of a woman, but there was something dark and unsettling about Ilona and the memory of my deceased wife and son gave me the courage I needed to push her away._

 _She left my tent incensed, swearing that my victories would soon come to an end and then she would have me. I told her she was mad, but her prophecy would shortly come true. The rest of that summer was a trying one. Although I continued to achieve victory in the battlefield, I was beginning to lose the support of my friends and my people._

 _Men I had once viewed as allies were now spreading terrible rumors behind my back and Radu, my traitorous brother, was fanning the flames, feeding those lies about my supposed villainy, the sadistic debaucheries that I never took part in._

 _Then I was informed that I was running out of funds. If morale had been better, we could have found a way to acquire more money for our campaign, but that fear I had instilled in the heart of my enemies was now being twisted against me…"_

Hera had to stop her reading for a minute so she could digest what she had consumed so far. She had a feeling that she was on the threshold of the worst that was to come and she wasn't sure she even wanted to know the rest at this point. What she had read already was enough to convince her that she had been too hard on Dracula, that his personal experiences and losses had shaped him, molded him into what he was now.

No wonder he was so obsessed with the progeny business, of bringing his undead children to life. It was as though deep down, subconsciously, after all the layers of sadism and the thirst for world-domination were pulled away – all the man really wanted was the family he had lost.

It pained Hera to see it, hidden away between the lines of the elegant script of the Count's hand, the pain that bled into every ink-stained word. Hera's conscience begged her to put the book away and be done with it – for how could this tale have a happy ending? She already knew it had no such thing. But she could not stop herself.

Her eyes found the pages once more and she internally braced herself for what was to come.

"… _I was traveling home with a small entourage one evening in the woods about twenty miles from the city when we stopped to make camp for the night. My men were exhausted from the long trek of the day through the unforgiving mountains and as we still had some ways to go, we found some suitable ground and pitched our tents for the evening._

 _When the hour struck midnight and my men were fast asleep as two took watch a distance off, I noticed a stranger lingering the shadows. Though his dress and appearance were dark, there was a strange lightness to his countenance that I could not account for at the time. He went only by the name of Gabriel…"_

Hera's eyes widened in recognition as she realized who this Gabriel was and she leaned in as if doing so would permit her some better view of the scene that was now unfolding. The meeting between the mortal Vlad and the left-hand of God pre-fall was a fascinating tale. It was clear that at the time of meeting Van Helsing, Dracula had no idea who he was or _what_ he was.

Although it was clear that Dracula, at the time of writing this, clearly harbored a great deal of bitterness for his lot, Hera was intrigued to find that with Gabriel, even though there was tension there, it wasn't the kind of animosity she had expected. The scene between the two was short and ended with Gabriel leaving the Count with an ominous warning regarding Matthias Corvinus and his family, specifically Ilona, Matthias' cousin.

Gabriel informed Dracula that Ilona's visions of angels were actually of emissaries of Hell, and should the Count surrender to the woman again, it would lead to not only his physical destruction, but also the annihilation of his very soul.

It was evident that this message spooked the young Vladislaus, and the older, wiser Dracula recounting the tale couldn't help but reprimand himself for forgetting the counsel so quickly, for it was just a short time later that his friend, Corvinus, betrayed him and Dracula was imprisoned. The betrayal of the Count's dear friend, his brother-in-arms, was a blow he could not bear, and when Ilona came to him a third time, visiting him in his cell, promising to help put him in the good graces with the king of Hungary, her father and Matthias' uncle, if he only did as she said… after fighting this woman for what felt like an age, Dracula could fight no longer.

Ilona seduced him, and he let her have her way with him.

Dracula's descriptions of the interlude were disturbingly detailed and Hera felt herself blush on several occasions as she consumed the intricacies of the violently passionate tryst.

" _I had never known such intense pleasure before_ ," the journal read, _"and yet, despite it all, I was still conscious of something dying within me – something I would never recover again. When it was done, I felt hollow inside, as if I were being slowly devoured by this dark void in the center of my chest. When I laid with Ilona once more the following morning, I thought for a moment that I could feel that emptiness filling, but when I was spent and she departed, I felt numb._

 _Ilona and I were married three days later and soon after, I learned that she was with child. Although the idea of having another child brought me genuine pleasure, I could not shake the feeling that something terrible was on the horizon…._

 _Our castle was attacked by a small band of mercenary Turks a few days later and among them was Gabriel…"_

There followed an account of the infamous confrontation between the Impaler and the left-hand of God. It was during this battle that Dracula realized Gabriel was in fact the famed angel of heaven of the same name. The Count asked this warrior of God why he must die and Gabriel's response was that after the crimes Dracula had committed, only death would offer him salvation.

As anticipated, with his final breath, Dracula denounced the God he felt had betrayed him. In the Count's mind, he had lost everything – his family, his friends, and now the support of the God he had so vehemently fought for. Before Gabriel could deliver the final blow, Dracula swore that if God would not take him, the devil surely would. So he swore allegiance to Lucifer, the son of the morning, and with a single blow of steel through the chest, he was dead.

But that was not the end of the story.

On the following page, Hera learned that the Count, though he had technically died, was still living – or rather, he was _undead_ , though he did not understand this at the time. He awoke in a mourning chamber where Ilona was speaking over his corpse.

" _I could hear the madness in her voice as she confessed to my seemingly lifeless body all of the monstrosities she had committed against me – how it was she who murdered my wife, Katarina, she who had turned Matthias against me, and she who through the use of powers far beyond my understanding, had managed to seduce the heavenly messenger into sparing her life after he had taken mine._

 _I was beside myself with an anger that was foreign and unrelenting. I felt that fury consume every fiber of my being and much to the surprise of Ilona, I arose from that crude wooden box that would have been my eternal resting place. I could have killed her right there if Matthias hadn't intervened. He was surprised to find me alive and well, claiming that it was a blessing from God that I had been restored to them, but I knew the truth… and so did they._

 _I hadn't given my soul to Lucifer the night Gabriel killed me – Ilona had primed it for the devil long ago and I hadn't even realized it. Just as I had become her puppet, she was his."_

The ensuing pages detailed Dracula's transition into becoming a vampire – how it started small with a sensitivity to sunlight and an abhorrence to things like silver, crucifixes, and other such relics – evidence that he had become a deterrent of all things holy.

But it was the passages that followed that disturbed Hera the most.

Ilona had been driven to madness by Dracula's return and the darkness that she had experimented in for so long. Refusing to fall victim to the Count's evident rage, she desperately fought to control him through blood magic and other means – particularly in the earlier stages when he'd be helplessly weak as the sun hung high in the sky. She'd come to his chambers during the day and with the sun paralyzing him, she'd take what she wanted of him and he was helpless to stop her.

Dracula was utterly miserable in his captivity and though Ilona bore him two sons, he was convinced that they were not his, not even the one that had been conceived that dreadful night in his prison cell before he had married the viper.

Matthias – aware of his cousin's madness and what his best friend had become – had kept the two as captives in their own house for nearly two years before the Count had finally gathered enough strength to break Ilona's hold on him and escape.

The journal depicted how the Count wandered the mountains of Transylvania for almost a year after, growing accustomed to the monster he had become and how he struggled with his lingering humanity. There were only a handful of pages left and Hera hoped beyond hope that this tortured man she read about had found some semblance of peace or closure.

But oh, how mistaken she was.

For she had forgotten about Dracula's father – Vlad II, the first of the Drăculești line.

Dracula found his father – an aged man still in exile – in the village of Visceria. But his father, having gone mad with age and the rumors of his sons' foul deeds, had abandoned the name and instead embraced the name of his ancestors – Valerious of the Gens Valeria of ancient Rome.

"… _I couldn't understand why he would do such a thing,"_ Dracula's journal explained, _"why he would so easily abandon the name he had been so proud of when I was a boy. But my father was no longer my father. I did not recognize the frail and elderly man that stood in front of me, nor did I recognize this new family of his that he had fathered. It was as if he had abandoned all of us, ashamed of who we were, what we had become._

 _In my youth, I had been so proud to call myself Drăculea – the son of the dragon. The son of my father. But in that moment, I realized my father had died years ago, and in his place was a usurper who was now denouncing me as his flesh and blood when I needed him most. I was surrounded by his filthy offspring and I was disgusted with them. I begged my father to let me end his suffering, but he told me that so long as I lived, his suffering would continue._

 _But the old fool didn't have the heart to kill me himself – so instead, after uttering a text of Latin, he shoved me back and I fell – not into the mirror that had been standing behind me, but_ through _it, until I emerged on the other side on the peak of a steep mountain in the middle of a horrendous blizzard._

 _And I was alone._

 _For three long weeks, I was stranded there, forced to endure the maddening solitude of the isolated mountains, starving, freezing, unable to die…"_

"And then the devil gave you wings," Hera finished solemnly.

She skimmed over the remaining pages detailing Dracula's vision of Lucifer, his first flight, and how he tracked down Ilona. Their meeting was a terrible one that involved violent arguing, Ilona claiming that the sons she had borne him weren't even his, that he would never know love or have children of his own flesh again. He was alone in the world. She had taken everything from him and she was all he had left.

Ilona made one last attempt to acquire control over Dracula, stating that he would never find peace in the arms of any other woman but her; that he belonged to her. Though her words would haunt him for years to come, in that moment, he was determined to prove her prophetic words as counterfeit. In a blind rage, he declared that he'd rather live an eternity in empty solitude than spend another instant in her power, and to drive home his point, he ravaged her neck, drinking feverishly of her blood, completing his transformation as the son of the devil.

Then he " _gave her what she had always wanted_ " – his seed to germinate in her womb.

But when he took Ilona, he never allowed her the chance to exercise authority over him. He was the one in charge now, oozing with a brutal and sadistic dominance as he unleashed what felt like a lifetime of anger and loss into her before he snapped her neck and threw her ravished corpse out the window. Her body broke when it hit the side of the tower on its way down before crashing into the river below. She was found the following morning, her carcass having been mutilated and half-eaten by wolves, and Dracula was at last satisfied.

He had felt the gravity of what he had done some hours later, but instead of allowing the guilt to torment him, he buried it deep and rationalized its remnants away.

The last two pages briefly summarized how he faked his death in 1475 and disappeared from civilization for a spell, stewing in his hatred of everything and everyone. The final page ended with the vampire mourning the fact that everyone had betrayed him – his father, his brothers, his best friend, his countrymen, and even God himself.

" _Although my father has denounced me and I him, the words which he instilled in me before he became Valerious the Elder still haunt my waking thoughts – that what makes a man great is his legacy. Although my legacy, my children, have been stolen from me, I am determined to have my line live on in some way. Though I am this unnatural thing, I will find a way for my seed to permeate the earth as Abraham of old – and my children will be as numerable as the stars in the heavens. This world will know my name once again."_

Tears of pity streamed down Hera's flushed cheeks as she finished her review of the Count's tragic life. She went back to the beginning to reexamine some of the passages she had skimmed over and with every page she turned, the more horrible she felt.

She could not excuse the Count's actions, the way in which he chose to live his mortal and immortal life, but she understood now why Dracula was the way he was, why he distrusted and misused women as he did.

Although their personal ordeals were different, she could also understand to a degree how he felt, the end results of their separate experiences very much the same.

Like Hera, the Count had been used, betrayed, and heartbroken.

But unlike Hera, Dracula had chosen the path of darkness, a life without hope, without feeling, and without love.

She pitied him.

Hera had finished her reading by the time the clock struck two in the afternoon. The sun would be setting in a few hours and she needed to try and get some semblance of sleep. So she closed the journal and placed it back in its original location before very somberly exiting from the small chamber, locking the door behind her. Returning the key to its rightful place, Hera then made the long trek back to her room.

She didn't sleep much for the remainder of the day, and when she did, her dreams were filled with unease and a deep sorrow, silent tears streaming between lashes and tumbling down her cheeks.

* * *

 **Would really appreciate any feedback you have on this chapter especially. It was a challenge to write and if you have any suggestions on future improvement or if you have any tidbits of history to correct or add on to, I'd appreciate hearing them. Or if you have no critiques to give, I'd love to hear your commentary/reactions to the content of the chapter.**

 **Does knowing the Count's history change your perceptions of him? How do you think this revelation will change the relationship between Hera and Dracula? Is there anything about his backstory you liked or disliked in particular? I'd love to hear your feedback!**

 **And remember - if you have any questions about the story itself or really anything, feel free to send them my way and I'll do another Q &A bit next week at the end of Monday's chapter. Otherwise, have a marvelous weekend, my dear readers! **


	25. Backlash & Reparation

**YOU GUYS! Thank you, thank you,** **THANK YOU** **for reading and reviewing over the last few days! This story hit quite the milestone yesterday, surpassing the 300 review mark and I'm just... I'm speechless and just so incredibly humbled. I never could have dreamed that this fan fiction of mine would have the kind of following it does** (especially for something in the Van Helsing section of all places) **, but I am so sincerely grateful for your support, your encouragement, and your continuous feedback. You guys are truly the greatest and I can't thank you enough.**

 **I hope that as the story continues** (as we still have 40 chapters to go after this one) **you will continue to enjoy what I put before you. Whether you do or not, I am still grateful for any feedback you have to offer.**

 **A tremendous thank you to** alexc1209 **,** Scarlet Empress **,** Madam Silver **,** Countess **,** She-Devil Red **,** Bloodsired **,** 12345678910 **,** the invisible reader **,** mayfire21 **,** jenny **,** RegencyPoet **,** bloodrose2014 **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** summerofthe1975 **,** Nyx-Arae **,** niccalexandra51 **,** ShadowSpade **,** MercyShadow **, and** AsaraSahara **for recently reviewing! Hugs and free Dracula-shaped cookies for all!**

 **I have the answers to your questions from the last two installments posted at the end of the chapter for your perusal. As always, if you have any additional queries, feel free to send them my way! Otherwise, enjoy this new chapter and, as always, forgive the errors I may have overlooked and let me know your thoughts when you finish!**

 **FOR MY VETERAN READERS (and a bit of a trigger warning) : there is a specific part of this chapter that has changed from the original version. Before, where Dracula's reaction to Hera's violation of his privacy was outright abusive, here I try to stick with the revamp-theme of barely restrained anger - although fair warning, he does still lash out and there is a small amount of violence/manhandling in here, but it's not nearly as gratuitous as the original. That's not to say I excuse his behavior, because I don't, but what happens after - the consequences and Hera's reaction - play an important role in his character development. **

* * *

**XXV**

 _ **Backlash & Reparation**_

Count Dracula sat alone in his office, doomed to be in there all night once more it would appear. The door was shut, his feet up on his desk, and his hands folded while his elbows rested on the arms of the chair, his thoughts on nothing in particular. Hera had spent the last three weeks combing through his library claiming to be brushing up on her Transylvanian history, but he knew better.

She was searching for information on Ilona.

Although he didn't care for the woman's continued defiance of his wishes, he did nothing to stop her. He knew she wouldn't find anything, and he assumed that when she finally caught on, she'd give up and they could carry on as before. He leaned farther back into his chair, getting more comfortable in his seat as he closed his eyes and soaked in the sound of the crackling wood in the fireplace, the gentle wind blowing against the window outside… Hera's heartbeat just outside in the hall.

His eyes snapped open when he realized how dreadfully close she was to his office. Was she coming this way for a reason? She usually spent all of her time in the library. The past three weeks had proven that routine. Why the sudden alteration?

Dracula removed his feet from the desk and quickly grabbed some random papers so he'd at least appear busy. The door opened without as much as a knock. When she entered, her very presence seemed to flood the room as though she were a beacon of light and he struggled to at least appear unmoved by her.

But heaven help him, she made that remarkably difficult.

"Miss Garret, have you ever heard of knocking?" he questioned her curtly without even looking up from the articles on his desk.

He heard her shut the door and noticed her out of the corner of his eye. She apparently had no response for him and he let out a sigh of irritation.

"Madam, I have a lot to do, so if you're going to be in here to disrupt my work, could you not stand there in silence and just…" He glanced up and fell silent when he saw the rusted trail of tears that stained her beautiful face.

Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, her cheeks flushed, and her lower lip barely quivering as she apparently fought to keep her emotions in check, and with very little success. Something overcame the vampire just then as he beheld the lovely mortal woman and her rare display of tears, and for the first time in a _long_ time, Dracula was genuinely concerned for a person that wasn't himself.

Normally, given any other circumstances, he would have hidden this with ease. But seeing the pain in Hera's eyes moved him in an unexpected way.

"What's wrong?" he asked sincerely, placing his pen down on the desk, a look of deep concern furrowing his brow.

Hera covered her mouth as she fought back a sob, but she couldn't keep it in. She started crying softly, just standing there, her hand over her mouth to suppress the noise as those tears bathed her cheeks. Human emotions and mortal instincts were something the vampire had grown very unaccustomed to, but within that moment, he could think of nothing else to do… nothing else that he _wanted_ to do…

He made his way over to her, his concern only increasing as Hera continued to weep more freely as he approached. He had never seen her like this before and he didn't like it.

"Hera, what happened?" he repeated, but her distress only worsened.

When Dracula reached out to brush a few tears away from her face, the woman broke down completely in his arms. He had been around hysterical women before and holding one of them was an awkward occurrence he often tried to avoid.

But for some reason he could not begin to understand, when it was Hera, it felt natural. This alarmed him for all of five seconds before he dismissed the thought, allowing her to cry into his shoulder as he sweetly rubbed her back, whispering soft reassurances and soothing words into her hair as she wept.

Hera didn't know what had come over her, why she was so upset.

Logically speaking, she was exhausted. She had barely slept these last few days and the fatigue, coupled with her ever-present homesickness, had certainly taken its toll on her. But the guilt she felt for reading the Count's journal without his permission and the genuine empathy that came with knowing the truth – Hera had come into this office with every intention of coming clean and facing the music that ensued, but seeing Dracula's face, seeing the hard, calloused shadow of the man he had become, recalling the terrible things Ilona had said and done to him.

Knowing that another human being had been forced to carry the weight of such pain and loneliness – even if the latter was self-inflicted – she felt sorry for him all the same.

She pitied Dracula because after everything he had endured in mortality – the betrayal, the manipulation, the disappointment, the sexual abuse by a woman who was supposed to be his wife – after _all_ of that, the posterity of his own father to this day continued to seek the end of his very existence, and all because of the ravings of a mad old man who could not see that his prodigal son had needed him.

The thought of Valerious the Elder's thoughtlessness made Hera miss her own father all the more. How grateful she was that despite Henry Garret's short-comings, he was still a kind and affectionate parent. Hera's father had been her rock in her times of need, one of the few persons she could fully depend upon.

Dracula had had no one.

That didn't excuse his behavior, but it made his situation more pitiable and this caused Hera to be more forgiving.

As her tears began to lessen, Dracula pulled back so he could look at her. He caressed her cheek, not quite certain where this tenderness was coming from, but he chose not to question it.

"What's wrong, my spitfire?" he asked her once more, though this time with noted affection, wiping her tears with the back of his fingers. "What happened?"

"Count…" she began, but she paused in order to better collect herself. "I've misjudged you," she whispered softly, diverting her gaze to the floor. "And I beg that you will forgive me for my ignorance. I did not know."

"Did not know what?" he asked.

Hera looked directly into his eyes as she gathered what courage she had and swallowed hard.

"I didn't know about Ilona," she replied.

Dracula went notably rigid at the name of his long deceased spouse. He released Hera from his hold and took a step backward.

"She was your wife," Hera explained. "And after all that she put you through, what has become of you because of her, I can understand to a degree why you think so ill of people as you do. I cannot condone it, but it does make sense now. I'm sorry I assumed the worst of you. You are not the unfeeling monster I thought you were."

The Count's face had gone from utter shock and disbelief, to barely contained rage, and though the voice in the back of Hera's head told her to stop talking, she couldn't stop. Her mouth was soon to run away with her.

"Who told you about Ilona?" Dracula asked her in the calmest way he possibly could, although he was visibly trembling.

"Nobody did. I... I read your journal," she answered timidly.

In that single instant, Dracula felt as though someone had torn all of his carefully crafted armor from his person only to point and laugh at his nakedness. He felt vulnerable and the feeling of violation, coupled with the pity in that human's eyes – it humiliated and infuriated him, and he went from utter calm to the edge of insanity in the blink of an eye.

"You _what_?" he clarified. Though the level of his tone was low and even, Hera quickly detected a scarcely bridled fury when his voice quivered with the last word.

She took a step back, uncertain of what he would do next.

"I – I'm sorry. I shouldn't …" she began as she reached for the door in a futile effort to make her escape, but before she could even turn the knob, his fist collided with the wall beside her head before grabbing her roughly by the arm and he turned her around so she would face him.

"How dare you help yourself to my things after I expressly forbade you to do so," he snapped, his awoken inner-demon making him immune to the tears the mortal was now shedding. "Does your word mean _nothing_? You know I do not make idle threats. Did you honestly think you could go against my wishes free of punishment?"

"I'm sorry, but I had to!" Hera insisted, voice broken by the sob building in her throat. She was shaking horribly as she pressed her back against the door in fear, trying to get away from him, away from the demonic anger in his eyes.

His monstrous change was horrifying and she had never been so afraid in all her life. His fangs were extended, face physically contorted with the rage of a hellish demon and Hera watched helplessly as all light in the room rapidly diminished. She could see the darkness that surrounded him, a blackness of aura that was terrifying to behold.

Hera had been afraid of him once before when he had confronted her after she had slept with Velkan, but this… the horror chilled her down to her very core, stealing her breath. It was like staring into the face of hell and try as she might, she couldn't tear her eyes away.

"You didn't have to do anything!" he barked. "Where did you find the journal, woman? _WHERE?_ "

"I… I…"

"SPEAK, DAMN YOU!" the vampire shouted, his voice shaking the room and he struck the door on the other side of her head, making her jump.

"I... I – in the room you told me not to go into, in the library. Aleera showed me the journal last night before the sun rose. I didn't know what it was until she had me read the first page. I told her I shouldn't read it and she put it away, showing me where the key to the room was. I wasn't going to read it, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to know the truth. I had to know it for myself!" she gushed, the words flooding out of her mindlessly as she trembled before him.

" _Aleera_ showed it to you?" he questioned in disbelief. "I know how much you two dislike one another. Why should I believe you? She'd never betray me like that, not when she knows the consequences!" and he grabbed Hera by the throat, forcing her to look at him. "You vicious little liar," he hissed, and without even realizing it, he had begun to lift her up to his level until her feet were dangling just so off the floor. Although she couldn't speak, the look in her eyes was full of desperate pleading.

 _Vladislaus, please don't do this_ , came her voice in his head.

But he wasn't responding.

Something had hijacked his brain – something far more terrible than just the anger he presently felt.

 _Read my mind! Please! I can prove it to you! Read my mind!_

Buried deep beneath his madness, the Count was surprised by her desperate request. He knew how much she hated having him in her head, but at her insistence, he complied. Still absently squeezing her throat, he rummaged through the past few hours of her mind.

He saw her reading the journal, he saw her tears… felt her pity… he had feared that by her reading the journal, finding out the truth about Ilona, that she'd hate him, call him weak and a monster for what he had done, just as everyone else had. But she didn't. She felt sorry for him.

He rummaged farther back and then he found what he had been looking for. He could see Aleera through Hera's eyes, presenting the journal to her, showing her where the key was… he even saw the incident when Hera had been sitting with his brides a few weeks back. Verona and Marishka had kept their mouths shut, but Aleera was all too eager to disobey.

The wheels in Dracula's head began to turn.

Aleera had been trying to get Hera into trouble ever since she had first arrived all those months ago. Aleera was the one who told him about Hera and Velkan, and now his youngest bride had been the one who showed the human his journal. His anger took a shift towards his own bride as the truth became crystal clear to him.

Aleera was the one trying to thwart his plans… at least where Hera was involved.

But why?

Well, the answer was simple enough – Aleera was jealous.

Aleera had always been the most insecure of his brides, the most conniving, the most vicious when threatened. He even remembered when she had tried to kill Marishka and Verona shortly after he had sired her. She was trying to dispose of Hera now. She felt endangered, at risk.

It all made sense.

While Dracula was having his epiphany of sorts, Hera had lost consciousness as he had been unwittingly depriving her of oxygen. That is, until he realized how her heart had slowed dramatically and now she was deadweight in his hand.

The Count released her abruptly and watched as she fell to the floor in a heap, her neck reddened by his earlier hold, and her body – outwardly lifeless.

Dracula panicked.

He had been killing her!

He fell to his knees on the floor, sick with guilt as he lifted the young mortal's head, lightly smacking her face in an attempt to rouse her. He cursed the devil silently as he called the woman's name, disgusted that he had surrendered to the darkness so easily, that he had raised a hand to harm the mortal in the first place. The anxiety in his chest tightened.

"Hera? Hera… come on… wake up," he urged, but she did not move.

Still cursing himself for losing his temper with her at all, as he laid her flat on the ground, positioning himself beside her on the floor. Not knowing what else to do, he plugged her nose delicately with two fingers, placed his mouth over hers, and breathed deeply into her before pushing hard onto her chest, forcing her lungs to pump the air, and her heart to get the blood flowing through her body.

He then listened for her breath… nothing.

So he tried again.

"Hera? Hera, please… don't die on me," he pleaded as dread ensnared him.

In a final moment of desperation, he bit into his wrist and pressed the bleeding wound to her mouth. He could see the effects of his blood on her neck shortly after. The marks of his grip on her neck were gradually beginning to fade and soon he could hear her heart beating strongly in her chest once more. With one final puff into her mouth, he was startled – and then deeply relieved – when she started to cough, wheezing horribly as her eyes watered while she gasped for air.

"That's it, breathe… breathe…" he encouraged, moving her hair out of her face as her cough persisted.

When Hera finally started to come to, she realized Dracula was hovering over her.

Screaming, the young woman began to scramble back in fear, desperately trying to get away as her pleas for him not to hurt her were choked between sobs of genuine terror.

Unable to bear the sight of her fear of him, though God knew he had earned it, Dracula's person was abruptly hijacked by an uncharacteristic need to make restitution. He reached out for her, and in a swift movement, the Count pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly to him, the words "I'm sorry" repeated over and over again into her hair.

Hera's struggle against him was short-lived as she quickly fell to pieces in his arms, clutching onto him as he held her there, the two seated on the floor in front of the door. He consoled her, gently rocking her as he whispered the first apology he had offered in centuries to the rightly upset mortal in his embrace.

He could feel the catching of her breath as she cried, her hands gripped tightly at the front of his shirt as though she were a small child, clinging to him for support. The Count, tormented with guilt, was rooted to the spot, unwilling to relocate from their position on the ground, despite how undignified it felt.

There was a part of Dracula's brain, that dark passenger that had controlled him just moments ago, it begged him to flee from the private agony her tears left him in. But the Count remained, unwilling to leave her in such a vulnerable state. In his mind, it had been he who had broken her just now, and his pride be damned, he would hold her until she was whole again – or at the very least, until she pushed him away.

But Hera never withdrew from the Count's hold.

Despite what had just occurred between them, for the first time in what felt like months, the young woman felt strangely safe, as if some instinctual part of her understood that the monster from minutes ago had not been him, but someone else, something much darker and nefarious. The man holding her now was the one she knew, the one from the journal... the one as human and frail as she.

Her weeping eventually died away and the two of them remained situated on the floor for several long minutes, the woman's head resting against the vampire's chest. After some time without a word passing between them, the Count carefully cradled her head back with his arm so he could look into her eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

She nodded apprehensively.

"I'm… I'm sorry for losing my temper with you, Hera… My behavior was inexcusable. You were right about Aleera. I should not have doubted you."

"I forgive you," she answered softly and without hesitation.

Something very genuine and foreign passed across Dracula's face when she said those words – relief, gratitude, and a reverent kind of awe.

He could not recall a time in recent memory when someone had offered him forgiveness for anything and he knew deep down that he would never be worthy of her mercy, not after his unjustifiable behavior. But he was profoundly appreciative of her pardon and he swore in that moment that he would never raise a malicious hand against this woman ever again.

Helping her to her feet, Dracula steered Hera towards the sofa by the fire, urging to her sit as he poured her a generous helping of bourbon, watching in silence as she downed the offering in a single breath before wordlessly requesting a second helping. She drank the next one much slower and as she did so, he took a seat beside her on the sofa.

"How's your head? I'm sure the alcohol will ease the pain a bit."

"It's not throbbing like it was earlier," she admitted, and it dawned on him how exhausted she looked.

He recalled how very little sleep she had been getting as of late, and that incessant twinge of guilt gnawed at his insides. How he wished he had just been honest and upfront with her from the beginning. But that boat had sailed weeks ago and there was no way he could go back and change the past. All he had control over now was the future.

Her words from their last real conversation came flooding to his mind, how she had insisted that honesty and openness went both ways, how if he desired her respect, he needed to show her that same courtesy.

In his pride, he had dismissed her. How he deeply regretted doing so now. Hera may have been a fraction of his age and out of time, but she was wise beyond her years. He was finally beginning to understand that now.

"I'll be fine," the mortal continued as she nursed the amber liquid in her glass. "I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that you vampires are always trying to strangle the life out of me."

He cringed at her attempt to find humor in an otherwise deplorable situation.

Dracula had never been more ashamed.

"I'm not the type to offer profuse apologies, but I am truly, _truly_ sorry, Hera. I should not have lost my temper with you, and certainly not to that extent. It was inexcusable and I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but..."

"Dracula, please," she breathed, staring at the beverage in her hand. "I'm sorry I invaded your privacy like that. I should've at least asked you first, although I'm not so sure you ever would have allowed it even if I had."

"Yes, I suppose that much is true."

There was an awkward silence that lingered between them for several moments as Hera drank and the Count stared off into the distance, silently berating himself for his behavior until the human interrupted him.

"You're probably wondering why I don't hate your guts right now," she said, her eyes searching for his. Her gaze always made him feel warm and right now was no exception. "That's why you didn't want me to read it, isn't it? You didn't want to risk me pitying you for what you endured or thinking less of you because of what Ilona did – I'm assuming all for the sake of your pride."

"It is true, although I also do not desire for you to fear and hate either," he admitted.

"Why?" she asked him, her question taking him by surprise.

Even _he_ didn't know the answer.

There were several possible scenarios that would have fit, but they were out of character for him. He didn't _like_ Hera like that... he wasn't _in love_ with her. It was just an unexpected… _attachment_. Like a master to his pet dog, although Hera wasn't exactly a dog. She could certainly be a bitch sometimes, and the thought made the corner of his mouth twitch.

"My dear, you are a very clever woman. I'm sure, given enough time, you'll be able to figure it out," he offered with a teasing lilt.

"It's probably the same reason why you wanted me here for seven months," she sighed heavily. "Although, I'll admit, I haven't entirely figured out your reasons on that front, either."

"Between the two of us, my motives keep changing," he muttered absently while studying the dancing flames in the hearth. He suddenly felt her hand on his knee and he glanced over at her with curiosity.

"Remember how you told me that you wanted me to be more honest with you?" He nodded. "I'd like to… starting right now." He smiled and patted her knee before using it as a support to push himself to his feet.

"Why don't we start tomorrow night? You look like you could use some sleep," and he helped her up.

"Isn't tonight one of our designated evenings, though? I'm fairly certain I owe you a _decent conversation_ and I have the perfect topic!"

The vampire smiled in response to her comment, but still he led her toward the door, opening it and following her out into the hall, deciding to walk her to her room.

"What topic might that be?"

"It's about your son, Mihnea."

Hera saw how the Count's smile disappeared and her expression softened.

"I know you think Ilona was responsible for his death, but she wasn't. He was still alive before Gabriel killed you."

"Hera…"

"It's true. And Ilona's sons – Vlad and Mircea – they were biologically yours as well."

"Hera, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but that was a long time ago. You don't need to assuage my guilt or pain by telling me what I want to hear."

"But I'm not. I would never give you false hope like that. I'm not cruel," she insisted, and though he said nothing, her words pleased him immensely. "In my time, in the future, there were scientists that were able to find a way to use genetic fingerprinting to determine biological parent-to-child relationships, and it's far more sophisticated and accurate than the stuff scientists today are tinkering with. I can give a more detailed explanation of it later, but what I'm trying to say is that your children, your boys – Mihnea, Vlad, and Mircea – they were biologically yours _and_ , despite Ilona's lies, they did live. Remember that period of time after you became a vampire when you were in isolation for a while? Mihnea was ruler Wallachia for some of those years before the boyars overthrew him."

Hera was watching the Count closely, eager for his reaction, but the vampire continued to stare in front of him, his expression difficult to read.

"Your sons fathered children of their own," she continued. "And your grandchildren had children, and so on all the way down to the day in which I lived. The Queen of freaking England – Elizabeth II – is even related to you!"

"When did they change the country's name to 'freaking' England?" Dracula asked with a sly smirk, hiding how deeply Hera's words had moved him. Fortunately for him, his joke distracted her from the faraway look in his eyes and she laughed.

"You know what I meant," she replied.

"Well, Miss Garret…"

"Ah, so we're back to _Miss Garret_ again, then?"

"Yes, _Miss Garret_ ," he maintained with a teasing smirk as they stopped in front of her bedroom door. "I should let you get some rest. Besides, I have a few things I need to take care of."

"Of course – I had interrupted you earlier. I apologize for that."

"Yes. Although I am intrigued by this _genetic fingerprinting_ you were speaking of. I would certainly enjoy hearing more on that topic tomorrow evening when you are better rested."

"I'm a bit rusty when it comes to the subject of genetics, but I'm sure we can manage," she answered cheerfully as he opened the door for her and she made her way inside.

"I feel I must apologize once more for my behavior this evening. I give you my word – that will _never_ happen again."

"I know," she said. "And again, I forgive you. I am determined to be friends with you, Dracula. Even if it kills me."

"That got dark rather quickly."

"Good night, Count," Hera said with a laugh.

"Good night, Miss Garret."

She bowed her head to him and then he shut the door. As soon as he could sense that she had finally laid down, he summoned for Jane through his mind. The woman appeared directly.

"Yes, master?"

"Miss Garret is catching up on some much needed rest. I want no one to disturb her until tomorrow evening. Understood?"

"Of course, master." Dracula nodded his head resolutely. "Is there anything else I could get for you master?"

"Tell Aleera I'd like to speak to her please… I'll be in the East wing."

"Yes, master. I'll go tell her at once."

Jane excused herself and when she was gone, he turned to head toward the stairs that led into the main foyer of the fortress, his footsteps taking him to the more abandoned part of the castle, the Eastern Tower.

Although the news Hera had shared with him regarding the survival of his legacy had pacified his temper, he had not forgotten Aleera, nor her defiance of him. She needed to be punished for her disobedience, reminded of her place.

And she would be.

She'd never defy him or attempt to harm Hera again, he'd see to that. Hera may have proven herself to be a rare exception to his opinion of women, but Aleera, unfortunately, stood true to his prejudices, through and through.

After he was done with her, when Aleera – humiliated and sore – would trudge back to her chamber, none of his brides would dare lay a foul finger on Hera ever again.

But one thing was abundantly clear to Count Dracula's brides when they retired that morning in their shared chambers – their master's feelings for this human clearly ran far deeper than just mere fondness.

* * *

 **Although the feedback for Friday's chapters were overall very positive, I received a lot of questions pertaining to some of the contents within. I'm not sure if the questions arose out of some of you just reading so quickly that you may have overlooked something or if I was just too subtle in my writing or flawed in my way of explaining things, but whatever the reason, I have done my best to capture all of your queries and have provided the answers below. Hopefully this helps.**

 **Q: When is Aleera going to get what's coming to her?**  
 **A:** You mean outside of her punishment at the end of this chapter? ;) Well, for now, she will remain alive. Have no fear, the karma bus will run her sorry ass over eventually; but for now, she still has a role to play so we're going to have to put up with her for a while longer. She'll still get that silver stake in the heart before the end. I just need you to be patient. All in good time. :)

 **Q: Did Ilona really rape Dracula during the daytime when he was transitioning into a vampire or am I reading too much into that?  
A: **A couple of you picked up on that subtle hinting in the last chapter, and a few others probably thought they were imagining things (at least that's how it sounded in your reviews), but sadly, no, you did not misread that single line in the last chapter. When I rewrote chapter 24, I had a few goals in mind - and one of them was that I needed a really good reason for Dracula to absolutely loathe the very mention of Ilona's name and the only thing that made sense (outside of turning a servant of God into a home-wrecker like I did in the original) was to have Ilona take away Dracula's sense of control. Also, because I wanted to keep his backstory aligned with history, I needed a reason for Ilona to get pregnant with a second child via Vlad and I didn't see him sleeping with her willingly after learning that she had been responsible for the death of his first wife (and, as far as he knew, his firstborn son). Since she wanted to control him, the best way to do that was for her to take what she wanted from him when he was at his weakest. It was a risk I took as a writer that I'm still on the fence about (in part because rape is such an ugly and controversial topic) but for the sake of the narrative and given the way he treats women (including Hera, to a degree) I felt it served a purpose. You are of course welcome to disagree, but overall the response to that plot point has been fairly supportive and for that, I thank you. I love Count Dracula as a character and I hated putting him through something so awful, but in my mind, for the sake of his character, the development he is presently undergoing, and for the sake of some of the happenings later on in the story, it was necessary.

 **Q: Who is the father of Ilona's children? Vladislaus or Gabriel?  
A: **Definitely Vladislaus. She only slept with Gabriel once (she seduced him in exchange for her own life after he "killed" Vlad) and at that point, she was already in early stages of pregnancy with her and Vlad's first son. It was Gabriel's moment of weakness that led him to fall in the first place - at least, that's my spin on it. But I didn't want to turn Van Helsing into another stereotypical adulterer like he was in my original version. I feel like that goes against his character (canonically speaking) and it just didn't suit my narrative.

 **Q: Did Ilona murder Mihnea or just kidnap him so Dracula thought his son was dead?  
A: **Hopefully this chapter put all doubt out of your mind in regards to this question but if not - Ilona did _not_ murder Mihnea. She did murder Dracula's first wife, however. With Mihnea - I like to think that he caught Ilona murdering his mother and in order to save her own skin, Ilona threatened Mihnea, stating that if the boy wanted to live, he had to disappear. Mihnea was just a child and he naturally wanted to live, so he agreed to the madwoman's terms and allowed one of her allies to hide him away where he was left to suffer alone, away from his father (who believed him dead) and as the only person alive with the knowledge of the true reason for his mother's demise.

 **Q: Is there a connection between Ilona's charming personality/seduction abilities and the Count's?  
A: **That is a really great question! Dracula has always had it in him to be charming and seductive. I like to think of it as a survival technique of his. Did he pick up some pointers from Ilona after she died that he carried on with him through immortality? Perhaps, but I think it would have been subconsciously done. Also, being the son of the devil has its perks, I think ;)

 **Q: What is happening in the future (21st century)? Hera's dad must be worried sick!  
A: **Actually, because Hera is in the past, no one would notice her absence because technically they don't exist yet (if that makes sense). Let's just say that time in the future has kind of frozen in place while Hera is here in the past. It'll make sense later on, I promise. But for now, no stress. Her dad has no clue she's missing.

 **Q: What are the others (Anna and Velkan) doing while Hera is with Dracula?  
A: **Another great question! To be honest, I never really gave it much thought until now. They're probably doing the usual, most likely - hunting werewolves, stressing out about what Dracula is up to, worrying about whether or not Hera is okay, wondering where their dad is, etc. And I'm certain Velkan has been working on his fencing abilities since his disastrous failure. But things in Visceria are quiet with Hera gone - which isn't entirely a bad thing.

 **Q: Do you have the original version of this story laying around somewhere? I would love to read it.  
A: **I do have the original still in my possession, but I have no plans on posting it anywhere in the foreseeable future. There are so many errors and instances of OOC-ness and I just... the thing embarrasses me. The whole purpose of this revamp project was to create a kind of compromise between myself and my readers via satisfying the original fans of the story by giving it back to them and appeasing myself by cleaning up and editing the things that made me cringe in retrospect. So this is the version you're stuck with. I hope you understand :)

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! Please leave a review to let me know what you thought of the chapter or if you have any additional questions!** **Chapter 26 will go live on Wednesday morning, PST.**

 **Also, one final note: it looks like the fanfiction website no longer supports outside links in profiles outside of a select few websites on their very small "white-list" : Facebook, Twitter, Google, and Flickr. Because of this, I spent a good hour last night updating my profile with the names of the original artwork (and their corresponding artists) that I use for my cover images. As a friendly reminder, I don't take** _ **any**_ **credit for any of the artwork used. Please don't sue. I'm not worth much. And think of this as free publicity :)**

 **\- T**


	26. Delving Into the Past

**Greetings my dear readers and welcome to the next chapter.**

 **First off, as always, I'd like to thank those who have recently reviewed -** Scarlet Empress **,** Madam Silver **,** the invisible reader **,** MercyShadow **,** She-Devil Red **,** Bloodsired **,** alexc1209 **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** summerofthe1975 **,** 12345678910 **,** ShadowSpade **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** niccalexandra51 **,** jenny **,** Nyx-Arae **,** RegencyPoet **, and** Kiriari. **Your support and feedback remains most appreciated and in truth, it was seriously the main reason why I was able to survive the last two days. Monday was... yeah, let's not talk about Monday right now.**

 **But truly, thank you for all of the kind words over the last two days. Oh did I need them.**

 **Now then, there were a couple of you who had questions or comments** (specifically about a certain bride) **that I felt warranted a response and you'll find that at the end of the chapter.**

 **Otherwise, forgive any errors I may have overlooked and enjoy the chapter! Feedback and commentary are always welcome!**

* * *

 **XXVI**

 _ **Delving Into the Past**_

The Count was silent as he roamed the empty corridors, absentmindedly headed in the direction of Hera's bedroom.

What a night last evening had been.

He figured after all that had transpired, Aleera would remain virtually invisible for the next few days, keeping to her coffin chambers with her sisters as they all talked about what he had done.

Perhaps he had been too harsh?

Then again, Aleera had tested him far too many times and her showing Hera the journal had been the last push over the edge.

He wasn't the kind of man who would beat or sexually assault his brides; there were far worse things to do to them that required less guilt on his conscience and a handful of those methods didn't even require him to lift a finger.

Although he privately wished he didn't have to resort to any kind of violence or manipulation in order to enforce submission, with a still fairly young vampire like Aleera, sometimes it was the only way to keep her in line, reminding her of who was in command.

Yet, his conscience still nagged in the back of his mind –

 _What about Hera?_ it would ask. _She's defied you at nearly every turn. She's openly argued with you, insulted you, struck you. Why do you stay your hand when it comes to the mortal?_

These shoulder angel/devil moments of his always drove him silently mad. For centuries, he had been able to smother what he believed were his more antiquated moral sensibilities, to silence the guilt as he behaved how he willed – but ever since Hera had arrived, ignoring that little voice in the back of his mind had become more difficult.

It wasn't that he hadn't punished Hera for her misdeeds, because he had – when he had given her fair warning and though she may had been ignorant of the specifics, she knew there would be consequences. Count Dracula was not the kind of man to make idle threats.

That being said, the Count still couldn't quite grasp why he allowed this human more leniency than he did his own brides. He entered the woman's darkened bedroom, the last remnants of the sun slipping behind the horizon as he pulled up a chair and sat by her bed, his mind struggling to make sense of the present situation.

There was something about Miss Hera Garret that made him feel different.

It had become a challenge to act as he had grown accustomed to, to do and say what he willed to whomever, to take without thinking, to deceive and manipulate – at least to the degree that he had in the past. In a way he could not quite yet grasp, Hera made him want to be better, to be the kind of man a woman of her caliber deserved.

 _But why?_ his conscience demanded. _Why do you care so much about this human? Why is she all you think about? She's a woman out of time. She doesn't even belong here. She could never love you, Vladislaus – not when she knows not only what you are, but who you are. Do not forget – you are incapable of loving that which you only intend to use. If you get emotionally involved, the plan will be ruined. You must maintain your distance._

All valid arguments aside, however, Dracula clearly could not keep away from her. Here he was, watching her as she slept because after the day he had endured with Aleera, his soul craved the nearness of this slumbering woman. Her very presence seemed to soothe the raging darkness in him. Even when they were in the throes of a heated argument, he felt strangely more at peace with Hera than he did anywhere or with anyone else – and the silent acknowledgement of this fact frightened him.

Hera suddenly stirred in her sleep, rolling over onto her side as she sank deeper within the linens of her bed, lost in the fantasyland of her dreams. A small, disturbed sigh escaped her before her breathing became soft and steady again, though a few creases of concern lingered on her brow.

She was dreaming, though of what he couldn't be certain. Eager for a reprieve from the mire of his own thoughts, he allowed his curiosity to get the better of him.

 _Just a peek. She'll never know,_ he thought to himself and he let his eyes flutter shut as his mind and body relaxed, and with the greatest of ease, he was able to slip into Hera's mind.

Dracula could only see flashes a first, blurred images that took some concentration on his part to make sense of, and when he did, what he beheld was strange.

He was sitting in an outlandish looking carriage without horses. Digging into Hera's mind a bit more he discovered this miraculous machine was a car, and he was in the backseat. It was late in the evening from the looks of it, and when he noticed the illuminated Palace of Westminster and the famous Elizabeth Tower which housed Big Ben, he realized where he was – London.

Why was Hera dreaming about this?

Dracula glanced over to see a small child of no more than four sitting beside him. She had beautiful honey suckled eyes and curly copper hair pulled back into a ponytail, her petite little body strapped into what he discovered was a car seat.

"Josh! I'm not going too fast, just shut up and let me drive!" the girl in the front snapped at the boy beside her. The girl reminded him a lot of Hera, only her hair was a darker auburn red, and her irises a dull shade of green. But she had the same shaped eyes, nose, and cheek bones – and despite her protestations, she was driving significantly faster than the other cars were.

"Athee! Where's daddy?" the little four year old girl seated beside the Count inquired. The teenage girl in the front adjusted the rear-view mirror to look behind her at the child.

"Daddy's still in the conference, Hera," the one called Athee explained. "He'll be home later tonight."

"Oh," four-year old Hera said softly.

Dracula looked over at the child beside him, realizing who she was. This was Hera? _This must be a memory of hers,_ he assumed. The boy called Josh suddenly grabbed the wheel from Athee and the car swerved as another automobile zoomed past them, barely missing them by inches.

"Jesus Christ, Athena! Would you keep your eyes on the sodding road? You're gonna get us all killed!" he shouted at her.

Athee sent Josh a look that was borderline anger, but mostly it was untold despair. She didn't say anything. She just kept her eyes on the road as they drove over the Westminster Bridge. The Count could see tears streaming down Athee's face and it made him wonder.

"Are you sure you can drive?" Josh asked in a much more soothing voice, squeezing her shoulder affectionately.

Athee nodded, quickly brushing her tears away.

"I'll be fine," she insisted, her voice slightly broken.

Dracula watched as Josh took Athee's hand and he gave it a reassuring squeeze before bringing the hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles with the greatest amount of affection, concern radiating in his eyes.

"I trust you," he whispered softly.

Athee just smiled pitifully, more tears rushing down her cheeks as her attention returned to the road.

"Why do you put up with me, Josh?" she asked him.

"Because I love you," was his immediate and genuinely sincere answer.

Athee's smile broadened as her tears ran more freely and a small sob escaped her lips.

"Athee, why are you crying?" the young Hera asked her.

Athee just smiled, doing her best to control her emotions.

"I just miss mommy, hon. That's all," she said in a broken voice. "I just miss mum."

"Me too," said Hera thoughtfully, staring out at the window to her side, never noticing the Count sitting next to her.

The wheels in Dracula's head began to turn as he started to make connections. So this Athee was Hera's sister? He didn't know she had an older sister. And her mother had died too? He felt an uncharacteristic swell of compassion flood his veins as he saw the grown Hera he knew now sitting in the seat next to him, staring directly into his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Before he could even utter a word of explanation, bright lights suddenly flooded the car and the sound of Athena and Josh screaming drowned out everything else.

Hera tried to cry out, but nothing came out of her mouth as Dracula, now observing from a distance, watched as a car drove head on into the one Hera was in. The image flashed abruptly to the totaled vehicle on the bridge, and there was blood and smoke everywhere. He didn't have to use his heightened senses to know that Josh and Athena hadn't survived the crash.

Unable to watch any longer as a team of medics pulled Hera's tiny body from the wreckage, nothing but a small scratch on her head from a piece of glass, he removed himself from her mind. Upon opening his eyes, he found himself back in the young woman's bedroom and the year was 1888.

Hera awoke shortly after he left her mind, and her hard and disapproving stare immediately burned a hole through his soul.

"I thought you said you weren't going to rummage through my mind anymore," she said, sitting up in her bed as she continued to keep eye contact with him.

"Who was she?" he asked, wanting clarification on the story.

"You said you weren't going to do that anymore! You _lied_!" she snapped, getting angry with him. "Come on, Count. After everything that happened last night? _Seriously_?"

But instead of getting agitated or defensive, he remained calm.

"I said I'd try. I didn't make any guarantees," he informed her. "Besides… had it been something else you were dreaming about, I wouldn't have persisted, _however_ ," and he got out of his chair and decided to sit on the edge of the mattress, the action taking her by surprise, "that was not a dream. That was a memory."

The mortal remained silent as she stared down at the bed. That was the second time Dracula had woken her up, and the second time he had been watching her dreams as she slept. Only this time, her dream wasn't humiliating… it was disheartening. She could feel the Count's long, icy fingers resting gently under her chin as he tried to lead her eyes back to his.

"Tell me," he said imploringly. "Please."

"Why do you even want to know?" she asked him in a petulant manner.

Dracula wanted to laugh. He had been asking _himself_ the same question a lot lately. He leaned back a little.

"Well, I figured it would be fair, since you happened to read my journal just the other day and now know more about me than I would prefer," he mused. "In truth, now that I think of it, I know barely anything about you. Is it too much to ask for you to level the battlefield a little?"

Hera relaxed a little more at that, her frustration with him beginning to ebb as her expression softened.

"I suppose I can't say _no_ to that, even if I wanted to," she commented and he patted her leg casually, hardly knowing why he did it, or where such familiarity came from, but if Hera had noticed it, she said nothing.

"Well, before I talk about the memory you saw, I need to explain something else first," she began. Dracula suddenly got off the bed and began to move about the room and she sent him a look. "Where are you going? I haven't even started yet."

"I'm getting some light into this room, unless you would prefer to sit in the dark," he explained, turning a switch and watching the dimly lit lights in the room illuminate to their full splendor before moving over to the windows and pulling back the drapes, allowing the sunset to flood the chamber. "You can still tell your story while I do this," he added.

"Right. Well, my parents met each other at Oxford. My father was finishing up his third or fourth doctorate degree, I can't remember, but it was in psychology, whereas my mother was working on a degree in forensic anthropology."

"That's an odd mix," Dracula mentioned as he returned to his seat on the bed.

"True. It was a shock to a lot of people that those two got together to begin with," she continued with a wry grin. "They were both interested in completely different fields of thought, but they had one thing in common that seemed to spark off the relationship — mythology and legends," and she sent him an inquiring look to make sure he was still following her. He nodded. "Well, the details are unimportant, but my father told me that my mother, her name was Catherine, that she was the greatest thing that ever happened to him. To make a long story short, they dated for five years…"

"Dated?"

"They courted… and eventually they were married. My father used to say that she was his greatest joy, his best friend… his whole life, really. No one loved or understood him quite like she did. Shortly after they were married, they had my sister, Athena."

"The Goddess of Wisdom," Dracula commented thoughtfully. "Minerva was the Roman counterpart, I believe?"

She nodded.

"As you know, Hera was also one of the Olympians. My middle name, Kali, is one of the Hindu goddesses."

"Yes, the Goddess of Death. I'm well acquainted with the name," and he smirked. "So you were named after the goddess of all the gods as well as the goddess of death," he mused. "I'm not sure if your parents have just a strange taste in names for children or a bewildering sense of humor."

Hera laughed.

"I know. My sister's middle name was Diana, after the Roman goddess of the moon. Even I'll admit, my parents were a tad bit obsessed."

"Athena Diana Garret," he thought aloud. "Not the middle name I would have chosen, although it's certainly better than using Diana's Grecian counterpart - Artemis. I think Hera Kali Garret has a better ring to it, however. Your parents gave you the more powerful name."

The young woman's cheeks flushed as her eyes diverted to her hands shyly.

"Yes. But my sister was one of a kind. Both she and I were _special_ , as my father liked to call it. Athee had a particular love and understanding for music. She was a virtuoso, really. She wrote her first series of sonatas when she was six, her first symphony when she was only nine, an opera when she was twelve, and the year before she died, she wrote her fourth and last symphony… a tribute to my mother."

"How old was you sister when she passed?"

"Seventeen."

"So you come from a long line of geniuses and prodigies, I assume?"

Hera just smiled, a faraway look her eyes.

"Yes. We were quite the group. I learned to read and write when I was only two years old. Everyone my age hated me when I was a kid and I struggled when it came to making friends. I was socially awkward – painfully so – and I seemed to relate better to adults who were three or four times my age than my own generation, especially when I was a teenager. Per my mother's wishes, my father put me in music lessons after she and Athee passed away, though for a long time I preferred academics to music, in part because I had convinced myself by eight years old that I would never be as good as my older sister had been."

"I've heard you play, though. Your skill is most impressive."

"Thank you, but if Athena had lived, she would have been leaps and bounds ahead of me still, even though she had quit playing and composing altogether after her tribute to my mother was finished. My father and I would listen to the recordings of her compositions for her birthday – despite her youth, her music was full of depth and expression. She had a way with taking these notes and creating harmonies that were more like raw emotion. I think if she hadn't given up her music she would have been in a better state of mind that night. She'd still be alive."

"How did your mother die?"

"She died when I was three …" Hera explained. "Brain aneurysm. Her death was so sudden and the minor headaches she had been complaining about the days leading up never gave anyone any cause for alarm. Her death tore my family apart. My father, in an effort to cope with the loss, became hyper-rational for a while. We never saw him cry and Athena, being devastated, couldn't understand why my father insisted on carrying on as before. I remember her being so mad at him. The only time they talked was when they were fighting. She gave up music and school, started drinking, doing drugs – anything she could to numb the pain she was in, I guess. Her boyfriend, Josh, had been with her for years. He was the only one who saw and understood the Athena none of us were allowed to get close to. Josh stuck by her after my mother died, even when she went through her rebellious phase."

Hera smiled through her tears.

"They were so perfect for each other; even at such a young age I could understand just how lucky my sister was. I can still remember how I wanted to be just like Athee, to be as clever and beautiful, and how I wanted to have a boyfriend just like Josh – someone who'd stay during the hard times and refuse to leave, someone who could love me even when I didn't deserve it or when I couldn't love myself. But all of my relationships have turned out to be quite dreadful, though that's a conversation for another time…"

Hera quickly changed the subject back again, hoping Dracula wouldn't persist. Thankfully, he didn't.

"So, my mother died, and several months passed. The memory you saw was the night I lost my sister, barely a year later. After my mother died, if I wasn't with Athee or father, I was hysterical and belligerent to the point that I couldn't even be left with a nanny or babysitter. After several disastrous attempts to saddle me with some poor stranger, my father finally began to take me to different conferences and lectures, and it actually proved to be quite good for the both of us as we could be together and he discovered that I could soak in and retain what was being discussed with ease. If a conference ever ran late, he'd have Athena or our butler, François, take me home. The night of the accident, Athena had picked me up early. I was tired and wanted to go back to the hotel. She was just on the mend; healing, I suppose is what you could call it, from my mother's death. She and father had fought and she was already so distracted that evening and, as you saw, she drove into an oncoming car. Josh died first, immediately on impact. Athena died just moments after she was pulled out of the wreckage. All I can really remember was waking up in a hospital bed with my father sitting beside me. When I asked him where Athee was, he…"

Dracula watched as Hera paused and fought to keep her emotions in check.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what my deal is. I've been so emotional these last few weeks. I'm usually much better at holding myself together…" and she flicked a few tears away and took a deep breath. "My father was the one to tell me that Athena was gone. He said she had fallen asleep and was with mommy and the angels. I had never seen my father cry before. But two losses in less than a year – and without any kind of closure – it was too much for him to take and he bawled," and Hera brushed away another tear, taking a deep breath as she struggled to shake off her sadness.

"After that, it was just me and him. He took me everywhere with him, to all of his lectures, his seminars, conferences – all of it, all over the world. We became very close over those years, learning how to move on together. At times, I wish I hadn't been so young, being forced to cope with death at that age, but in some ways I'm glad it was then instead of later, where the loss would have been so much harder to bear."

There was a brief moment of silence as Hera took the opportunity to breathe before managing a weak smile, though it was clear she was still upset as tears continued to well in her eyes.

"And that's my tale of woe," she said sheepishly. "God I don't know why I can't stop weeping these days. I apologize for being such a blubbering mess. I'm sure this is very awkward for you."

In an act of uncharacteristic sympathy, Dracula took Hera's hand and squeezed it.

"You must miss him… your father."

It was the first time someone had acknowledged her misery aloud without being prompted and the words made Hera feel fragile as her lip quivered. She could not bring herself to speak. All she knew was that she had this aching hole in her heart, the hole where her father had been. She wasn't sure when she'd see him again, or if she would, and though she had tried these last few months to be strong, it was so hard.

Hera nodded her head to confirm the Count's suspicion before more tears tumbled down her cheeks and Dracula, unable to bear the sight of this woman hurting, moved a little closer to her on the bed and allowed her to fall into his arms as she wept softly.

Dracula realized in that moment how lonely Hera must have felt, away from home and out of time, unable to enjoy the comfort of the familiar. She had borne this misadventure of hers surprisingly well, considering how sheltered she appeared to be.

The Count said nothing as he quietly soothed her and when she had finished her crying, he said nothing still, only offering her a sincere and sympathetic expression until they were suddenly interrupted by a knock at the door. Dracula released her.

"It's open," Hera called after clearing her throat.

Jane entered into the room, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of the Count and his female guest sitting together on the bed.

"Oh! Master… I… forgive me. I was not aware that you were in here. If I had known I would not have dreamt of… Am I interrupting anything?"

Dracula stood and shook his head.

"No. I just took the initiative of awakening Miss Garret this evening." The servant nodded and proceeded to place the tray of Hera's "breakfast" over on the table by the fire. "Well, Miss Garret, after you finish your early evening ritual, I'll meet you downstairs in the library."

"What for?"

"We're scheduled for one of our conversations tonight, or have you forgotten?"

"No, I hadn't, I just… I figured what we had just discussed had counted."

"Do you not wish to meet with me then?"

"No, that's not it at all. I - sorry. Yes, I'll be downstairs in an hour. Did you have some topic in mind?"

"I'm familiar with the study of anthropology but this 'forensic anthropology' you had mentioned earlier – I'd like to hear more about what that entails in your time, and if I recall correctly, you were also supposed to tell me more about genetic fingerprinting. If you have no objections, we could start there?"

"Of course I don't mind. I'll be down shortly."

"Very good," he said and Hera smiled, the two nodding at one another in acknowledgement before the Count excused himself from the room, shutting the door behind him.

Hera noticed Jane's small smirk and she sent the servant woman a look.

"Alright, what are you smiling about?" the human asked suspiciously. The vampire merely shrugged as she began to draw a bath while Hera ate her breakfast.

"Nothing, Miss. Nothing at all. I'm just pleased to see that you and the master aren't quarreling. It's a refreshing change."

"It's amazing what talks of death and tragedy can do to people's civility," Hera said with a small laugh. "But don't worry Jane. Knowing the two of us, this cordiality shouldn't last long."

"One can only hope."

When Hera had finished her food, she allowed Jane to help her out of her nightclothes and into the tub. It had taken some getting used to, standing in front of this woman completely naked, but she had grown to trust her, allowing the servant to take the mesh sponge and lather violet scented soap onto her back and arms as she sat there in the warm water, her hair up in a loose bun to keep it from getting wet.

"Aleera showed me the Count's journal the other night," Hera said after growing weary of the silence. Jane's steady rhythmic motion of her washing faltered for half a second when she said that, but the servant recovered quickly from the surprise.

"Did she truly?"

"Yes."

"I assume you read his account, then?"

"I did."

"Does the master know?"

"He does. I couldn't stand the guilt of going behind his back like that, so I told him."

"That was very brave of you. I assume he didn't take it very well."

"Not at first, no," Hera replied, hugging her knees in an effort to keep herself decent. She wasn't _that_ comfortable with her body.

"Well that would certainly explain the mood he was in last night."

"What happened last night?"

"He spent most of his time in the East tower with Aleera. The mistress has refused to see anyone today."

"Did he hurt her?"

"I'm certain he didn't, but considering Aleera's behavior, I'm convinced she had to deal with the consequences of her actions… although I shouldn't be telling you this."

"I won't breathe a word of it to anyone," Hera assured her. "I noticed you mentioned in the Count's journal once or twice. I had no idea you've been working for him for so long."

"I have been in the master's employ since his first marriage. After his pact with the devil, he gave those who had been in his employ the longest an opportunity to join him. I was one of the first he turned."

"You must be very loyal to him."

"I am, miss. He is a good master and a fair employer. I have no complaints."

"A model servant, then?" Hera teased and Jane chuckled.

"Most of the time, yes. We none of us are perfect – except maybe yourself, of course."

Hera laughed.

"Oh, of course!" she exclaimed with playful sarcasm. "But truly Jane, all teasing aside, I am quite _far_ from perfect, I assure you."

"I usually don't contradict the words of the master's guests, but your personal imperfections aside, my dear, I fear you may be selling yourself a little short, as you call it."

"Am I, though?" Hera asked, clearly unconvinced.

Jane removed Hera's hair from the loose bun it had been in and began to wash the tresses.

"You are beautiful, intelligent, exceptionally talented," Jane started to explain, but Hera interrupted her.

"All fine qualities, sure, but nobody wants me. I'm not good enough for anyone."

Jane paused in her washing of the young woman's hair and sent the human a bewildered look.

"Nobody wants you?" she repeated.

"I'm a quarter of a century old, Jane. Despite the handful of relationships I've been in, none of them have ever lasted. No one has fought to be with me. I pour my whole heart into people and they all end up running away or disappointing me in some unforgivable way. My whole life, I felt like I didn't belong in the time I was in and now that I'm here, I still feel out of place, like maybe I don't belong anywhere."

"Might I speak plainly, miss?"

"Of course. I wish you'd do so more often."

"Miss Garret, perhaps this isn't an issue of belong somewhere as it is belonging with someone?"

"You mean I'd feel better if I found someone I was compatible with?" Hera clarified. "I shouldn't need a man to feel better about myself, Jane. I don't need a man."

"Forgive me, I should have chosen my words better. I suppose what I mean to say is that it is easier to face the difficulties of life when you have someone to stand beside you."

"What, like a friend?"

"Friends are wonderful, yes – but I was thinking more of a soul mate."

"I don't believe in soul mates."

"That's a pity," Jane said as she reached for a bathrobe, silently encouraging the mortal to stand so she could step out of the tub and dry off.

"Why is that a pity? The entire notion is ludicrous. Although I admittedly love the idea of love, the rational side of my brain understands that all it really is is a ménage of hormones and pheromones secreted in order to secure a mate for reproduction so the species can survive. The idea of soul mates is fantasy and the concept of monogamy was born out of religion."

"That sounds like a very clinical mode of defense designed to protect your heart from getting broken, if you'll forgive me, miss," Jane pointed out candidly. "Miss Garret, take this however you will and realize that it's simply my opinion and nothing more, but did it ever occur to you that maybe the reason for your inherent loneliness isn't so much the fault of others as it is you keeping them at a safe distance? And maybe when you finally do start opening yourself up, the other has grown weary of waiting? I understand the appeal – the idea of a man who will wait for years until you are ready, but I've yet to meet any person who'd do such a thing, unless it's in retrospect."

Jane, realizing she had perhaps been too presumptuous, began to backtrack a bit.

"Forgive me, miss. I suppose to a degree I can understand your hesitation. Having one's heart broken is a terrible thing and I can sympathize with your desire to protect yourself. I understand I've overstepped my boundaries, speaking so frankly to you, but if I might offer a piece of advice that you may discard or accept as you see fit – love is a terrifying thing. It is beautiful, but it is also frightening, putting your trust in the arm of an imperfect man. But I've known him for centuries, my dear, and though he may be used to having his own way, at his core, he is a good man."

"Who is?"

"The master, of course."

Hera's eyes widened.

"Wait… you think I'm in love with _Dracula_?"

"Well aren't you?"

"Heaven's no!" Hera exclaimed, before tacking on, "Well, that is… I haven't even considered..."

"Then forget I said anything, miss. I apologize. It was not my place to presume," and Jane quickly began to make her exit, grabbing the empty breakfast tray as she headed toward the door.

"Jane, what made you think that I was in love with the Count?"

The servant paused at the door for just a moment, evidently at war with herself, trying to decide if she should speak her mind or if she should stay silent. She had already said so much. Jane's eyes found Hera's and she said with an almost sad smile,

"The two of you are just so alike. Of all the things I've seen in my time, Miss Garret, the two of you together makes the most sense to me."

* * *

 **IN RESPONSE TO MY ALEERA HATERS ** (which is a great many of you, lol) **: for starters, let me just assure you that I feel your pain when it comes to Dracula's youngest and most irritating bride. She is constantly blowing holes in my Hera/Dracula ship** (are authors even allowed to ship their own characters?) **and though I'm sure the woman has her good points** (whatever those happen to be) **,** **I get the frustration many of you are having with her.**

 **As I mentioned in my Q &A author's note last chapter, she will get what is coming to her, but it will take time. She still has a role to play in regards to the future of Hera and Dracula's relationship and that won't come into play until much later. Also, much of her mischief-making has remained true to the original version of the story _and,_ you may recall, this story does follow the actual events of the movie fairly faithfully, even with Hera's presence. **

**Look, I get it. Many of you can't stand her - but that's kind of the point. She's in many ways the villain in this story** (if I had to pick one, anyway - although I still maintain Dracula's occasional idiocy is a villain in its own right) **. But try and look at it this way -**

 **Aleera is the youngest of Dracula's brides. She is possessive by nature and arguably the most insecure** (it comes with her "age") **. Now, to her, Hera is a direct threat to her standing with her master and Aleera has been trained, in essence, to dispose of such threats. Even though I can't stand the woman on many levels, I will say that I almost kind of pity her in a way because of this character flaw of hers.**

 **Another thing that has been brought up a couple of times - why haven't I detailed out Aleera's punishments? Why have they all been done "off screen"?** **The answer is simple - I did not feel it necessary to spell those scenes out. In my experience, sometimes the mere suggestion of something is far more powerful than explicitly showing it, in part because this allows the reader to exercise their own imagination. For this reason, I felt** (and you're welcome to disagree) **that Aleera being punished off screen was far more effective** (and in this instance at least - far more tasteful) **than showing you exactly how Dracula put her back in her place.**

 **If you really want to read about Dracula punishing his brides for disobedience, I'd recommend reading the opening of chapter 8 in** Lyn Harkeran's _Dancing into the_ Night **,** **as it is brief but effective** ; **or if you want something more explicit,** TheStoryGypsy's _Le Petit Mort_ **is simultaneously disturbing, yet tastefully done.**

 **Hopefully this helps clear things up.**

 **Again - thank you for your questions and feedback. I really do appreciate your investment in this story, and asking questions and providing commentary is the best way to show your engagement. If you have any additional queries, feedback, praise, or critiques, as always - send me a review! I love hearing from you guys!**

 **Next two chapters will go live Friday morning, PST.**

 **\- T**


	27. A Change of Pace

**Once upon a time, a much younger me rediscovered her love of _Labyrinth_ ** (and Jareth!Bowie's rocking hair, obsession with glitter, and that distracting bulge in his trousers) **while writing the original version of this chapter and she kind of got carried away in the influence department.**

 **The original version was something like 25 pages long, but I broke it up into this chapter and the next so it's less overwhelming.** **Naturally, this specific installment is a lot lighter and fun than the last few have been, so I hope you appreciate the alleviated mood, although I should warn you - these two chapters are pretty much the same as they were 7-ish years ago when I first posted this story; there are just a few minor tweaks and then everything else was cleaned up :)**

 **Before I toddle off to enjoy my weekend and go hike a mountain** (it's therapeutic; don't judge me) **I wanted to send out a very sincere thank you to** She-Devil Red **,** RegencyPoet **,** MercyShadow **,** the invisible reader **,** Scarlet Empress **,** 12345678910 **,** alexc1209 **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** mayfire21 **,** ShadowSpade **,** Bloodsired **, and** Nyx-Arae **for reviewing chapter 26. These next two chapters with all its playful bantering between Hera and Dracula are dedicated to you, so ENJOY!**

 **Oh! And, as always, forgive any errors I may have missed. I did try to catch them all** (Pokémon! LOL) **, but I've been really distracted this week. My apologies!**

* * *

 **XXVII**

 _ **A Change of Pace**_

A couple of weeks later found Hera making her way down the hall towards the Count's office, the soundtrack to Jim Henson's _Labyrinth_ blaring in her ears as she hummed absently to herself. The music and the fantasy of the film's story normally provided her with adequate enough distraction, but even with her quiet singing, she couldn't get Jane's comment from a few weeks ago out of her mind.

She didn't know why, but the comparison between herself and the Count coupled with the housekeeper's observations disconcerted her somewhat. Whether because of the presumptive nature of the accusation or the not-entirely-subtle hinting that accompanied it, the comment had rubbed Hera in an odd way. But there was one thing she was definitely sure of – Jane saw, or rather fancied that she saw, something _more_ existing between her master and his mortal guest.

Hera couldn't understand why it bothered her, why it made the butterflies in her stomach hyper every time she approached the vampire's office, especially on nights like tonight when she was due to spend the entire evening with him. It had never really concerned her so much in the past, but she was particularly nervous now, and she didn't know why. Perhaps it was because the two of them had been getting along so well these last few weeks and she wasn't sure she wanted the genuine friendship they had built between them to end.

Dracula was making a noticeable effort to be more respectful of her personal space and privacy, and the conversations and debates they had shared had been some of Hera's favorite. But why these meetings always started with an attack of anxiety she couldn't really grasp. She did her best to push it aside as she knocked on the door, waiting for the Count's invitation to enter. When she was permitted to open the door, she found him seated at his desk.

He looked up at her and smiled as she removed one of the ear buds from her ear.

"Please have a seat, Miss Garret, I'll be with you in a moment," he said, returning to the papers in front of him. "I just need to finish this up."

Hera nodded and shut the door behind her, taking a seat on the sofa in front of the fire as she rummaged through her iPod. It amazed her that this thing continued to work, how the battery insisted on sitting perfectly at the same percentage it had been at before she went back in time. She refused to question it, however, for fear that if she did, her music would be lost to her forever.

While scrolling through the small selection of movies she had on her iPod she glanced up at the Count to see if he was anywhere near finished. Not giving her any indication that he was, she decided skip through certain scenes of the 1986 film _Labyrinth_ as she waited, since she had been listening to the music only moments ago.

As she watched the film on the tiny little screen in her hand, she never did notice the Count when he completed what he had been working on, how he moved silently toward her and leaned over the back of the sofa, observing from over her shoulder, thumbing just vaguely through her thoughts so he could listen in.

"So this is what science is capable of in the future?" he asked, startling Hera when he spoke, as she had no idea that he had been so near. She paused the movie and pulled the ear buds out of her ears, turning her head to face him.

"In a way, yes. It's actually far more advanced than this," she explained.

"Remind me what you call this piece of devilry?" he asked, taking the iPod from Hera's hand so he could properly examine the device, his curiosity evident.

"It's called an iPod. It can store and play a variety of things – music, movies, podcasts, audiobooks…."

"Ah yes, that's right. Peculiar name," he commented, handing it back to her.

"I'm surprised it's still working," she added absently, turning it off and placing it into her pocket. "So, what are we going to talk about tonight?"

"What were you… observing?" he asked, clearly more interested in her contraption.

" _Labyrinth_. It's a movie. You wouldn't understand. Anyways, what-" But he interrupted her again.

"What's it about?"

"What, the story?" she clarified. He nodded. "It's about a teenage girl whose baby brother gets kidnapped by the Goblin King, Jareth. She has to complete his magical labyrinth in thirteen hours or Jareth will turn her brother into a goblin. It's a very campy and mad flick, but it has a huge cult following. I'm particularly fond of the music and cheesy affects… and David Bowie, of course."

"Ah," was all he said, trying to wrap his mind around a cult worshiping that bewildering man with huge hair and an affinity for obscenely tight trousers.

"Actually, the more I think of it, the more I start seeing similarities between you and Jareth."

Dracula cocked a brow.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, there are character and personality traits that the two of your share… and, of course, the fact that both of you take pleasure in messing with young, innocent girls and their minds," Hera teased.

"I like to mess with young, innocent girls and their minds?" he repeated with a laugh in his voice. "Miss Garret, last time I checked, you weren't very innocent," and he moved around the sofa to sit in the chair across from her.

"A minor technicality," she continued.

"Not very minor depending on the culture," he said.

"Regardless, you still delight in toying with people. I've said it before and I'll say it again – you have it in you to be dominant to the point of being off-putting. There are times when I'm still amazed that people willingly put up with you… like Jane for instance."

"Miss Garret, you've wounded me," he stated with noted mirth.

"That reminds me of a line of song from the movie…"

" _Don't tell me truth hurts little girl… 'cause it hurts like hell_ ," Dracula quoted.

She sent him a look.

"Would it kill you to stay out of my head? You were doing so well these last weeks," she said, her light-hearted disappointment only amusing the vampire.

"I know, but it's as you said – I enjoy it."

"Yes, well I'm not entirely sure I do."

"You would be surprised the things I can do with my mind," he said, his expression and tone full of suggestion.

"All right, enough of that," Hera said, shifting a little uncomfortably in her seat as Jane's words from a few weeks ago started playing over again in her head. She needed to change the subject. "What would you like to talk about tonight? I recently reread _Les Liaisons dangereuses_. We could talk about the dangers of revenge and the implications of amorality? Or perhaps we could pick up last night's discussion on Freud?"

"No, I have a better idea. I'm in the mood for a game."

Hera began to protest.

"No, no, no. Technically we're already playing a game, and so far, I'm winning. I'm not playing any more games with you."

He chuckled.

"Yes, I'm going to have to resort to more drastic means to get you to kiss me on your own. I'll admit, having unrestricted access to your mind, though entertaining can be, well, suffice it to say, _wearisome_. You are hard to block out sometimes."

"There's a compliment in there somewhere, I'm sure," she said cheekily, and though the Count said nothing in return, he did smile. "But to the point - I'm not playing any more games with you Count," Hera continued to insist, but he paid her no heed.

"Let's play a mind game, Hera. I think it'd be amusing – a nice change of pace."

"No it won't. I don't do mind games."

"Oh come now, this one is harmless. Actually, it's going to test the strength of your imagination against my own."

She cocked a brow.

"What?"

"Have you ever been in a maze before?"

"Once or twice. Why?"

"Let me into your mind and I'll show you," he said, leaning forward. She shook her head, laughing.

"Oh, _hell_ no! I'm not playing any game that includes you being in my head any more than you already are. I don't want you controlling me in any way."

"Miss Garret, I'm not going to be controlling you. All I wish to do is connect our conscious minds. That's all. Everything will be illusionary… purely psychological. Nothing more. I give you my word that I won't try anything."

"How do I know if I can trust you? Even with the civility between us these last weeks, your track record isn't exactly stellar."

His expression of mischievousness turned a little sour.

"Miss Garret, if I wanted to, I could very easily control your mind and take away your free will with a snap of my fingers – you _know_ this. Now, this mutual respect we've been enjoying the last few weeks has been an amicable change and I think I've proven myself worthy of at least a degree of your trust, don't you think? I'm not doing this maliciously, my dear. I'm merely suggesting we enjoy the evening with a little diversion – completely harmless. I swear."

Hera folded her arms resentfully under her chest.

"Fine, I'll play your game," she relented, before pointing at him. "But my will remains my own."

"I wouldn't have it any other way. But you play by _my_ rules. Can you deal with that?"

"You only want rules so you can break them."

He exhaled his irritation. He knew she was only being difficult to test him, but he was growing weary of her defiance.

"You are still so determined to think the worst of me, aren't you?"

She just smiled, a conniving look in her eyes.

"Knowing your past may have helped me to understand you on a more emotional level, but that doesn't mean you've changed, Count. I know how you work."

He laughed.

"You _think_ you do, but the reality is, my little spitfire... you know _nothing_ about what makes me tick."

"I'm not so sure about that. You're a man after all."

"I am no ordinary man."

"That is yet to be determined," she challenged with a noted hint of flirtatiousness.

"Madam, are we going to play our game, or would you prefer I seduce you for the remainder of the evening and see how long you last?" The look she gave him served as the answer. "Very well. Now then, all I need you to do is close your eyes and relax."

It surprised Dracula when Hera didn't even offer a word of refute against him. She obeyed immediately, closing her eyes and allowing him in. He tweaked her conscious mind just slightly so when she "opened her eyes", she found that they weren't in Dracula's study anymore, but outside of what appeared to be an enormous hedge maze… a _labyrinth_.

Hera rolled her eyes.

This wasn't happening…

The sky was cloudy up ahead and the maze itself was surrounded by a thick, lush forest, a soft mist spilling out from between the trees and covering the ground.

"Your film inspired me," came Dracula's voice from behind, the gentle fanning of his breath on her neck making her skin tingle.

Damn, he was close!

Hera turned to see him dressed in his usual black, only with his cloak and gloves included.

"Glad to be of service, I suppose," she managed, trying her best to ignore the way his sudden closeness made her feel. It had been a while since he had nurtured the sexual tension between them – she had almost forgotten what it felt like. "So, what's the goal? First person to the center wins?"

"Yes, I believe that will suffice."

"Rules?" she asked, pulling her hair back into a ponytail as he spoke, looking ahead of her at the maze instead of at him.

"Well, since I am curious to see whose imagination is more powerful, I think it goes without saying that there will be no imagining yourself to the center. Outside of that, there will also be no inflicting of _too much_ personal harm on one another, oh… and I almost forgot…"

Hera glanced to her side where the Count was now standing, only to find him with the most mischievous of expression.

"What?"

"We need a reward for the winner."

Hera rolled her eyes.

"Of course! How could I have forgotten?" she exclaimed dramatically, her sarcasm lethal. "I know what I want when I win."

" _When_ you win, Miss Garret?" he laughed. "So confident in our skills, are we?"

"I am going to kick your sorry vampire ass, Count Dracula, and I'm going to _relish_ in it."

"Very well," he chuckled darkly. "What would you like as a reward – _if_ you win?"

"I want my mind back, sans me having to kiss you. You relinquish our bond and our game is over, got it?"

"As you wish."

"And if you win?" she cued.

"I want my kiss, Miss Garret. A proper one – one I don't have to _coax_ out of you."

"I still don't understand why you are so determined to have me kiss you," she pointed out. The Count moved to stand in front of her, though a little closer than was probably necessary.

"I don't need to give you a reason," he purred.

A bit embarrassed by his sudden closeness, she diverted her eyes downward, only to shoot them back up again when she noticed the swell in the crotch of his fitted pants.

"And if you'd like, I can sweeten the wager. I do believe our original agreement was that if you initiated a kiss, I would grant you a single request of your choosing. If you win, I will still grant you your wish, as compensation for my underestimating of your tenacity."

"Count, you flatter me," she teased, struggling to appear unaffected by their continued proximity.

"I admit, I'm feeling unusually generous this evening."

"Evidently."

"So, are we in agreement then?" he clarified. "If you win, I sever the bond _and_ you get your one request, no kissing required. But if you lose, though I will still grant your request as per the conditions of our original agreement, I also get my kiss, and you're not allowed to hold out on me, darling. I want you to give me your all… _put your back into it_."

Hera released a shuddering breath at the suggestion, feeling her cheeks flush pink.

"Do we have a deal?"

She took a step back, in part to put some needed distance between them, but also because for a moment she felt hesitant. It was like making a deal with the devil. Should she succeed and arise victorious, it would give her a very rare moment of dominance and superiority over him, something her ego loved the idea of. But if she lost... was it a risk she was willing to take? Being the one to initiate that kind of _amour_ was risky and would undoubtedly alter the field on which they presently resided.

Although there was a part of Hera that knew better than to proceed, her more reckless sensibilities won out as she swallowed her apprehension and took the plunge, shaking his offered hand with confidence.

"Deal."

"May the best one win."

Dracula then motioned for Hera to lead the way towards the opening of the maze and he followed after her. Upon reaching their destination, she took a glance at the provided paths on either side of her and she sighed. Which way?

"It really doesn't matter which way you start out," he mentioned, answering her unasked question. "I'll take the opposite way you go. Ladies first."

"How much time do we have?"

"You pick."

"Well, considering the fact that this can't get any more ridiculous… should we make it thirteen hours? Or is that too long?" she said, imagining an enormous clock with thirteen hours on it, the timer appearing above the maze. Dracula glanced up at it.

"If you'd like. That is more than enough time," and he looked back at Hera only to find she wasn't in the outfit she had been in earlier.

The young woman was now clad in a glossy black patent leather ensemble and all the vampire could do was stare.

She almost looked like some kind of futuristic hunter or assassin and though the outfit was certainly in a style he had never come across before, he approved of it greatly. The material hugged every single curve of her body in the most delicious and tantalizing way imaginable, igniting a flame of lust in the center of his chest.

Oh, she'd be a cruel, _cruel_ mistress, and the thought sent his darkest fantasies ablaze.

"I'll go right, you go left," Hera replied, motioning in the two directions with her head.

Before heading down her chosen path, her attention returned to the Count as she noticed the way he was staring at her. He looked positively ravenous.

"Dracula? Earth to Dracula? You still in there?"

"Why did you change your clothes?" he asked as casually as he possibly could.

"I felt like it," she said, a mischievousness hidden behind her eyes as she turned and began to walk down the path. "You better get moving Count! I've been known to be exceptionally brilliant when it comes to these sort of things. My sense of direction is stuff of legend."

The vampire forced a throaty laugh as he turned down his own path.

"I'm sure," he called back to her before whistling softly as the vision of Hera clad in leather came crawling back into his mind like some sort of seductive poison and the ensuing thoughts of bondage and a fight for dominance sent delicious chills down his spine. " _Damn_ …" was all he could manage to say, the word coming out in a rush of air through his teeth.

True to her word, Hera proved to be very good at mazes, as within a matter of two short hours she could see the center. All that stood in her way was a long path, about a hundred yards ahead. She laughed in success as she started to run toward the pillar of light that marked the exit.

That is, until something happened that she had not anticipated.

Dracula suddenly stepped into her path, blocking her way.

"Done so soon?" he mocked. "Miss Garret, we've hardly even been here that long."

"As much as I've enjoyed this game of ours, Count, I would really like to have my mind back, so if you'll excuse me," and she started to move around him, but he grabbed her arm and, without warning, swung her violently in the opposite direction she had originally been heading.

Her body was airborne for a few seconds before it collided with a hedge as she fell to the ground in a heap, surprised and a little ticked off – though grateful that her tumble hadn't hurt like she had anticipated.

"What the hell was that for?" she snapped as she pushed herself to her feet. Dracula stood in her pathway still, that signature smirk plastered to his face.

"I want to have some fun first," he explained. "I've hardly seen you in the last few hours and I fear I've become dreadfully bored," came his voice from beside her and she turned to see Dracula heading toward her from another direction. What? There were two of them?! "And as I said before," came a third Dracula from a different path. "I want to have a little bit of fun," one whispered into her ear from behind, startling her a bit.

She was surrounded by four Dracula's and in four different directions.

Before her mind could go immediately to the gutter, she mentally slapped herself in an effort to stay focused. The center of the maze was still in view, right in front of her… a hundred yards off. She could easily sprint that distance in fifteen, twenty seconds tops.

"You wanna have fun?" she asked the four Dracula's that now surrounded her. "Fine then… let's have some fun," and with the power of her mind, she vanished and then reappeared fifty yards from the center, sprinting in that direction as fast as she possibly could.

Hera was almost there when a hedge grew into her path, blocking it completely, the sound of the Count's laughter echoing in the air. She uttered an oath when she realized the entire maze was changing around her, walls popping out of nowhere and being devoured by thick vines and foliage, pathways shifting and then disappearing into shadow.

"Run, run, run, as fast as you can," he sang, laughing at Hera's frustration every time some new obstacle appeared in her path. After some time of this, she had had it. She spun around after yet another wall had appeared in front of her and she turned to see Dracula walking towards her, an expression of deep amusement adding a kind of twinkle to his eye. "Ready to give up?" the vampire asked.

"You are so juvenile, did you know that?"

Dracula smiled charmingly in response, leaving the human to growl her frustration. There was no getting through to this man! _Everything_ was a game to him—from her to his war with the Valerious family!

Did he take _anything_ seriously?!

"Are you ready to give up?" he asked once more, thrusting Hera back into the "reality" in front of her.

Hera, determined not to be beaten, popped the knuckles in her hands and the crick in her neck as her frustration turned to resolve.

"I was about to ask you the same question," she said before sprouting wings from out of her back, the patent leather ensemble replaced by a full-body corset, lending her a more dark-fairy inspired look as she took off into the sky, heading straight for the center, which was not too far off.

A disapproving roar shattered the sky as Dracula's voice reached her ears.

"That's cheating, woman! You can't just fly to the center" he shouted.

"That wasn't in your original rules. Don't get all bent out of shape because I found a loophole," she laughed, but before she could get that far, a gigantic beast had sprung out of the ground, taking on the form of one of her worst fears.

It was a spider, black, hairy, and monstrous in size, and in the one position that scared Hera witless—the "ready to pounce" position.

Hera flew straight for the maze as the spider leapt into the air in her direction, letting out a blood-curdling scream while racing through the labyrinth, momentarily forgetting that all of this was just in her head, leaving her petrified beyond belief. Glancing behind her, she could see the spider now on the ground, chasing after her.

She panted wildly as she flew through each path, sometimes going straight through the hedge walls themselves, getting quite cut up in the process.

"What? Is my spitfire afraid of a little spider?" came the Count's mocking voice as the arachnid drew closer to her, the sound of its eight legs crawling wicked fast making Hera's heart race to the point that she was certain it would burst free from her ribcage and out her chest. "What if we added a few more into the mix?" he asked and Hera noticed two more enormous spiders appearing from within the hedges, and soon there were three on her tail.

Sweat laced her skin as she raced for her life while Dracula sang 'the itsy bitsy spider' in a taunting manner, walking through the maze, ever nearing its center.

" _The itsy, bitsy spider ran up the water spout_ …"

Hera flew through a hedge wall and found one of the eight-legged demons on the other side waiting for her and she screamed, barely missing its shooting web by inches as she flew into another direction.

" _Down came the rain and washed the spider out…_ "

One spider leapt into the air and landed in front of Hera, nearly giving her a heart attack as she dove into another direction.

" _Out came the sun and dried up all the rain…_ "

Hera was getting tired. She couldn't take this for much longer. Suddenly, something sticky wrapped around her ankles and pulled her to a ground. She came to a grinding halt as her body met the earth and she rolled over to find her legs were tied up with webbing, the three arachnids just yards away, moving in fast on all sides.

" _And the itsy bitsy spider went up the spout…_ "

Just before the spiders could touch her, Hera thought of the one thing she knew could save her and sighed in relief as an enormous foot came plummeting out of the sky, squashing the oversized insects with three hard steps and the woman sighed in relief, lying flat on her back as she fought to catch her stolen breath.

Dracula turned to see the foot disappear into the sky, Hera in the distance down a certain path as she tore the webbing off her legs with the help of a partucular creature he hadn't expected to see. When the woman's eyes met his, her glare became sinister.

"Bloody bastard," she hissed, staring directly at him.

Beside her was easily the largest werewolf Dracula had ever seen and when Hera had turned to look at the Count, the wolf followed her gaze and snarled wildly at the vampire who, for the first time since Hera had met him, looked truly afraid.

Although deep down in the back of his mind he knew it was an illusion, nothing more than the raving creations of Hera's incensed brain, his natural instincts were much louder than that voice of reason and he felt his body tense up as he realized what was about to happen.

"You wouldn't dare," he muttered to himself.

"Sick 'em boy!" Hera ordered, pointing at the Count and the wolf chased after him, Dracula hightailing it in the opposite direction.

Hera had never seen him run so fast.

After pulling the rest of the webbing off her legs, she quickly pushed herself up to her feet, the wings she had imagined for herself folding and then vanishing into her back. She quickly ran down the path the wolf had gone chasing Dracula and turned into the direction the Count had been going previously.

As she turned around another bend in the trail, she stopped just in time before she could fall into what she realized was a lake – and on the other side of this body of water, the remainder of the path.

The woman groaned loudly in annoyance as she heard the Count finally recognize that the wolf was an illusion and she naturally assumed he would be heading back for her at any moment. Not having much of a choice and figuring the distance between her and the other side of the lake wasn't _that_ far, she dove in head first just as Dracula rounded the bend.

Hera glanced behind her briefly as she swam away, noticing how the vampire's clothes were torn up, as if he had put up quite the fight against the imaginary wolf. He was disheveled and absolutely livid. It made Hera want to burst out laughing.

"That was low, Miss Garret! Even for you!" he called as she continued to swim across the way.

"And gigantic spiders weren't?"

"I swear, I'm going to get even with you!"

"Only if you catch me!" she taunted.

In retrospect, she probably shouldn't have mocked him further, because he dove into the water after her, his head never breaking the surface after he went down.

But she knew he was coming for her.

The water was still… too still and not seeing the Count or knowing how close he was, was beginning to worry her.

Deciding to check, she gathered what breath she could before diving underwater to look into the direction the Count should have been coming at her. What she saw made her heart skip a beat.

It was Dracula in hell-beast form, barreling forward with fangs bared, claws reaching out. She quickly swam further down under the water and he missed her by inches as she disappeared into the freezing black abyss of the deeper waters.

She could see him, hovering above her like some sort of shark or sea monster, waiting for her to come racing for breath. Hera couldn't hold her breath for much longer and if she even so much as let air out of her nose, the bubbles would give away her position.

Eventually, an idea popped into her mind, and feeling resolute, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to sink deeper to the bottom of the lake, farther into the darkness where he couldn't see her as her imagination had her body change forms from that of a human to a mermaid.

Hera gasped for breath under water with her gills, sighing in relief that she could breathe at last, but suddenly regretting the action when Dracula noticed her bubbles coming from beneath him and he started to head deeper under the water.

With the Count soon hot on her tail, Hera struggled to reach the end of the lake, swimming as fast as her fins could carry her. When she broke through the water, her mermaid tail vanished, but as she was so close to the beach and could finally touch the lake floor, she raced towards the shore, arms reaching. Before she could get fully out of the water, however, something grabbed her by the ankle unexpectedly, pulling her under water before she could even catch a decent breath, dragging her back into the lake's depths.

But it wasn't Dracula who had seized her, but an enormous serpent, coiling tightly around her body and pulling her farther into the blackness. Hera was forced to gasp for air underneath the water, her lungs that so desperately needed oxygen bombarded with water. Her body promptly tried to cough it up, but all she got was more water and she started to drown as Dracula swam past her, oblivious.

When the Count emerged, he turned and looked back at the lake that Hera hadn't come out of yet and waited for her head to break above the surface... but it never did.

After a matter of seconds he started to worry. Why was she still down there? Against his usual character, he dove back in and swam down to see the enormous snake that had awoken in the depths of the lake. But there was no Hera. In fact, he couldn't see her anywhere.

Dracula felt his chest tighten with panic.

What if that monstrosity had caught her?

It was just a game!

It was just pretend… all in their heads!

Then dawned on him how real it would seem to a mortal and that's when he saw it – Hera's body, tangled up and unconscious in the serpent's grasp. Not even thinking twice about it, he dove down for her, pulling the woman out of the viper's hold and lifting her to the surface. They both emerged, sopping wet as he dragged her body to the shore, using his mind to command the snake to remain underwater where it belonged.

The moment he crawled onto the rocky shore, he laid Hera onto her back and listened by her mouth. She wasn't breathing. She had been drowning and he didn't know! He mentally kicked himself for sending that thing after her. It probably scared her so bad, she didn't even have time to imagine a way out.

He was just about to perform CPR on her, his mouth descending towards hers, when he felt water being spat into his face. He recoiled and looked down to see Hera on her back, eyes open, and the most ridiculous grin on her face.

"I got you so good!" she laughed, loving the look of worry that had been on his face. "Oh my God, you fell so hard for that! I can't believe you!" and she sat up, wringing out her hair and laughing hysterically as Dracula tried to regain his composure without getting too angry with her.

Of course, that naturally didn't work out as well as he would have liked.

"Hera, that wasn't funny," was all he could think to say.

She just patted his wet face as she used his shoulder for support to push herself to her feet.

"Yes it was, Count. Yes it was."

"I can't believe you got me to dive in after you," he grumbled to himself, too embarrassed to realize that as she was walking away towards a nearby shrub, she was unlacing the full-body corset she had been wearing.

"I'm genuinely surprised you did," she confessed, stepping behind the large bush just as she removed her clothes, tossing them to the side. She then imagined herself dry and in a pair of tight jeans and a black racer-back tank-top. Relieved to be clothed and no longer wet, she sighed softly as she took a towel out of thin air and began to dry her damp hair.

Dracula was still kneeling in the rocks on the shore, soaked to the bone and vexed, though his eyes had softened in response to seeing her naked back for a mere instant.

"Were you worried about me, Dracula?" Hera asked, her playful smile adding a kind of sparkle to her eyes.

He stared hard at her as he stood, the action of straightening his jacket miraculously mending and drying his clothes and person until he was back to his usual perfection once again.

"I am _not_ answering that question," he stated resentfully. "Also, remind me to never, _ever_ save your life again."

Hera laughed.

"Aww, did I heart Draccie's feelings?" she teased in a condescending baby-voice. "Did I hurt his pride because for just an instant he was actually worried about a puny little mortal and the puny little mortal found out?"

She boldly laughed in the face of his evident ire and decided to talk normal again since his expression was showing that any more of that baby-talk and he'd have her hide stuffed and put on display.

"Dracula, I think I'm growing on you," she stated.

He huffed as he moved past her, heading down the path with Hera looking after him.

"No, you are not," he grumbled crankily. "Remind me to never do you a favor again."

"It's okay, Count," she whispered, smiling softly when he had disappeared round the bend. "You're growing on me, too."


	28. The Game Heats Up

**And the frivolity continues... and obviously my whole getting carried away really shows in this chapter, but I don't have the heart to cut any of it out or rewrite it, so ENJOY! And don't forget to review!** **Also - slight disclaimer: things get a bit _steamy_ in this chapter **(just a smidge) **and there's a generous handful of adult-themed dialogue. You have been warned! ;)**

* * *

 **XXVIII**

 _ **The Game Heats Up**_

After a good fifteen minutes of walking together in relative silence, Count Dracula finally decided it was time to strike up some sort of conversation, simply because the internal dialogue he was having with himself was starting to get irritating. That, and he had an unquenchable need to get back at Hera for making him jump in after her.

 _Although she didn't exactly force you to do that,_ the incessant voice in the back of his head reminded him for the umpteenth time. Dracula rolled his eyes.

 _Yes she did. She knew I'd go in after her. It was_ my _idea for the game, I would have been responsible._

 _Whoa… wait a second, Vladislaus. Are you… taking_ responsibility _for your actions?_

Dracula suddenly realized, a little too late, what he had just admitted to, and he cursed internally.

 _Of course I'm not_ , he denied. _I'm just… being a gentleman._

 _Why? You never cared that way for her before. It's not like she's some wealthy man's daughter or wife that you need to seduce or conquer._

 _Oh, shut up_.

 _Why have you been so lenient with her these last few weeks, when you should have been firm, assertive?_

 _I said shut up._

 _I mean, honestly… would you have jumped in after one of your brides during any of these games? Of COURSE not! You wouldn't even jump in after your own mother…_

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Dracula yelled aloud, the outburst causing Hera to jump and she swore.

"Geez, what is _wrong_ with you?" she snapped at him, instinctively smacking his arm, having been so wrapped up in the quiet they were sharing, only to have it shattered by his abrupt display of insanity.

The Count's eyes went wide for just a brief moment before he rapidly regained his composure and continued to walk alongside Hera, choosing muteness over explaining himself.

"Who were you telling to shut up, anyway? Yourself?" she teased. The vampire sent her a nasty look, but said nothing. Hera's smirk only widened. "I see… and uh… do you talk to yourself often, Count?"

"I don't know _why_ I put up with you," he muttered, picking up his pace.

The sooner they got this over with, the better. Hera was starting to get all smart-ass on him.

"Maybe it is because you find me strangely attractive," she offered.

Dracula barked out an exaggerated laugh, but when he looked over at her, he realized she was being totally serious.

That wiped the smile off his face.

"No, I don't find you _strangely attractive_ ," was his reply. "Actually, I find you _morbidly_ attractive," he added with a teasing smile. Hera rolled her eyes.

"So you find the fact that I'm a supposed genius; that I delight in stories about dead people; that _despite_ my rather humble knowledge and education — which, need I remind you, surpasses your own — I still like to use profanity on occasion… all of this about me you find only _morbidly attractive? Just_ morbidly? Good God, Count. We need to work on your flattery."

He ran his hand over his face, laughing.

"Miss Garret, you are ridiculous."

"Not _half_ as ridiculous as you!" she proclaimed defensively. "Need I remind you that it was _you_ who wanted to play this game, that it was _you_ who connected our minds in the first place, and that it was _you_ — oh competent one — that finds messing with poor _Miss Garret_ amusing, enough to the point where you are willing to bet your sanity on whether I kiss you first or not," and she glanced over at him, sending him an incredulous glare. "If you want to see ridiculous Count, go look in a mirror."

"Yes, I would, my dear," he answered, "but there's a slight problem with that quip of yours. I have no reflection."

"Ah yes. That's right. I still don't get how that works. I mean… I understand how a mirror is a doorway to you and all, but why you can't see yourself in a mirror or in a window… or in water, for that matter? It just logically doesn't make any sense."

"It's not supposed to make sense. That's why they call it _supernatural_ ," was his cheeky reply.

Hera went to smack his arm again, but he maneuvered out of the way.

"Okay, you know what?" and she started to follow after him as he continued to dodge her attempts to lightly hit him, " _I_ can be a smart-ass given my situation, but _you_ have _no_ reason to be one to me." He grabbed her coiled fist when she went to punch his chest and he pulled her close, her bent arm the only thing between them.

"Since when did _you_ make the rules?" he inquired, loving how she was struggling against him.

Ah, there was that control he had been craving!

"Since now!" she seethed, placing her free hand firmly on his chest and trying to push herself away from him—naturally to no avail. "You suck at being in charge. I want a turn."

The vampire laughed.

"Darling, I suck _blood_. Not at being in charge. It isn't possible. After all, I was and still am a military genius."

"Well then _forgive_ me for my ill choice of words, _your grace_!" she said, now attempting to pull her wrist out of his death grip—again with no success. In fact, he only held tighter.

"Let's not name-call, _shall we_?" he crooned with a suggestive smile. She was getting frustrated with him, and he _loved_ it.

"Let me go! And that's a demand, not a request."

"The mortal makes demands?" he laughed. "How _excessively_ diverting."

"Dracula, I'm serious. Let me go."

"Why? I don't want you hitting me."

"What? Are you afraid it'll hurt?" she challenged, eyes sparkling with mirth. "Are you afraid I'll _bruise_ you?"

"Firstly, pet, I don't bruise. And secondly: you? Hurt me? That would be the day, my little spitfire."

"Okay, you really need to stop calling me that," she insisted as he snatched her other hand.

"Why? Does it make your skin tingle? Does it _arouse_ you?" he teased, his voice purposefully going seductively low as he got in her face.

"No, you imbecile. Don't flatter yourself."

"I think you like me, Miss Garret."

"I think you're just desperate for me to, simply so you can have a semi-legitimate excuse to continue in your delusions, your… twisted sexual fantasies of me. And don't think I don't know about them. I've seen how you stare at me. I don't like you, Count, not like that. I don't want you, I don't need you, and I think it's safe to say that I _never_ will."

"I could _easily_ change that," he replied with noted suggestion.

"No, thank you," she chuckled, still struggling, attempting to pull away from him, but as result, he followed along with every tug she made, forcing her to back up. "I swear, what do you think you are? God's gift to women?"

"Well, actually…" he began, teasingly considering the thought, but Hera interrupted before he could get too far.

"That was rhetorical! And no! The answer is no! You're not!"

With a minor exertion of the Count's imagination, a wall suddenly appeared behind the young woman, allowing him to pin her between it and himself, putting an end to her retreat.

"You don't know that for sure, Miss Garret," he pointed out suggestively. "I have a long list of women who have shared my bed over the centuries and I can assure you that _all_ of them have been thoroughly satisfied with our… _tumbles_."

Hera didn't know whether to laugh or roll her eyes.

"I will never understand where you men get the notion that any woman wants to hear all about your conquests and sexual exploits. It doesn't make you sound experienced, Count. It makes you sound like a douche."

"And yet, just the mere thought of my touch still sends your heart racing," he purred, encroaching on her personal space and secretly reveling in the way her pupils dilated in reply as her breath hitched and her cheeks flushed.

Contrary to the woman's insistence, Hera Garret could not deny that as infuriating as the Count was, some deeper, darker part of her yearned to cross the threshold of intimacy with him.

And unfortunately for her, Dracula was fully aware of this.

"Let me assure you, my adorably delusional little spitfire, you will sing a _very_ different tune the day you finally abandon your insistent denial and succumb to the insurmountable pleasure that I shall bestow upon your meager flesh. You don't think I know that your sarcastic quips and countenance of disinterest are merely walls to hide your true desires? I have seen the flashes of hunger in your eyes when I am near you. Even now, I can sense your deliciously treacherous body betraying you, aching for my touch."

The blush in Hera's cheeks deepened.

Although their closeness was purely imaginary, it felt real, as real as the soft caress of his finger against her cheek.

"I've never known a woman to fight so hard against me. Haven't you grown weary of it yet?"

"Of denying you the satisfaction of my surrender? _Never_ ," Hera replied, finally finding her voice. "All you want is to control me, to rule me, to take away my freedom; but while there is still breath in my body, Vladislaus Drăculea, I can promise you that I will _never_ submit to you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, my precious thing," he said with a dark smile. Hera chuckled.

"Oh, you are such an ass. Did you know that?"

"You haven't even seen it yet."

" _Yet?_ Is that some kind of threat? Will I go blind from the whiteness?"

"Very funny, Miss Garret."

"Seeing you naked is definitely _not_ one of the things on my bucket list, Count."

"But sex is?" he mused.

"Did what I just say a few seconds ago go in one ear and out the other? I will _never_ share your bed, or any bed with you for that matter," she informed him. "Never, ever, _ever!_ I don't care _how_ good you say it'll be, I won't do it. Your arrogance aside, the actual act itself would just be wrong on _so_ many levels."

"Why would it be wrong?"

"I'm not into necrophilia," she replied with a glint of mischievousness in her eyes. "There's no way in hell I'm having sex with a dead guy."

She was teasing him.

" _Undead_ ," he corrected with an amused lilt in his voice, not at all discouraged by her denial.

"Like there's a difference. I swear, you don't even have a heartbeat. There's nothing to pump the blood through your body which means an erection should technically be impossible for you. Quite honestly, I don't even know how you're able to get it up in the first place."

"You know, I recall you wondering about that before. The offer I made to you at the time still stands, by the way," he cooed, loving how she squirmed in mild uneasiness.

"In your wildest dreams."

"You know nothing about my dreams, spitfire," he whispered, his eyes glowing.

"Stop calling me that," she interjected, though in a less convincing voice this time, and he noted it immediately.

"I think not, my dear – your heart skips a beat each time I say the word and a delicious heat rushes beneath your flesh at the utterance. Does it frustrate you that such a seemingly harmless expression can alight your body with such passion and desire?"

"I _really_ hate you right now."

"Oh, you insolent woman, I would have it no other way. There will come a day when you will love me and hate me in equal measure – loving me for what I can and will do to you, and hating me for stopping."

A shuddering breath of lust escaped Hera's lips as she stared helplessly into the vampire's glowing eyes. She knew there were a few more witty retorts in her somewhere, but she couldn't find them. His seducing mouth had stolen all thought from her as he roughly pinned her hands to the wall above her head before finally kissing her.

Hera let out a loud groan of protest and then desire untold, her defiance smothered beneath him and those masterful lips of his. He could feel her resolve diminishing and he took advantage of her present moment of weakness and slipped his tongue into her mouth.

Even though it was just their imaginations, he could still feel everything, from the moist warmth of her mouth, to the fever that broke out over her skin. He could even feel her hands, which were now running down the front of his chest to his… wait, _what?_

Dracula peeked his eyes open only to realize that during his brief moment of gratification, he had absently released her hands so he could run his fingers through her hair. In his instant of distraction, she had started to react, to touch him back. He had allowed her some control over the situation.

 _No_ , his pride rebelled and he quickly grabbed her hands from his hips before holding them away forcefully, smirking against her panting mouth when she let out a pretty little curse.

"Why do you get free reign to touch me, but I can't touch you?" she asked him breathlessly as he ran his tongue up her neck, tracing the protruding purple vein beneath the pallor of her skin.

"It's a control thing," he muttered into her skin before kissing the spot behind her ear.

If that didn't kill the moment, nothing else would have.

Hera shoved him away, disgusted with his behavior, but mostly with herself.

She had been giving in to him a whole lot easier lately, and she had started noticing it more and more as the weeks had gone on. The woman sort of hated herself for how weak she was, how easy it was for her to give into the pleasure of it all: of his hands and fingers, his mouth and tongue.

Noticing the twisted smirk that appeared on his lips after she had thought that, she smacked herself and let out a growl of frustration before stalking back through the maze.

"Love you too, sweetheart!" he teased, just to piss her off as she turned around the corner.

When she vanished from sight, he could hear her screaming a plethora of nasty little phrases, earning some wicked laughter from the vampire who started to lick his fingers slightly, drinking in the female's pheromones with a dazed look in his eye as he eventually began to follow after her.

Hera was still muttering oaths under her breath when he caught up, and the two said nothing for the next ten minutes or so, until at last they found the center of the maze and both stared at the platform in the middle of the clearing.

Displayed on an altar was something that Hera could have sworn looked like the Holy Grail, with a pillar of light shining on it—she even thought she heard a choir singing? But the expression on the vampire's face reminded her that it was just her imagination and all the lights and singing ceased immediately.

"Sorry," she muttered to herself.

He rolled his eyes and moved forward.

"Well, it looks like I win," he said, reaching out to grab the trophy, but….

"Dracula, don't!" Hera called out.

He stopped and turned to look at her.

"Why ever not?" he asked.

"Because that's totally not the center of the maze," she answered lamely, not willing to let him win, especially after the stunt he had pulled earlier.

"How would you know? I invented the game… I think I know what the prize looks like at the end."

"Because it just isn't it, that's why," she spat out quickly. He sent her a look, and she answered his unstated question by pointing to her right. "That is," she explained as his gaze followed the direction of her finger.

Dracula let out an irritated groan.

"Ah, come on, woman, _now_ who's being ridiculous? That is _completely_ absurd!"

The mortal moved over to the Count and stood beside him.

"That isn't _my_ imagination Count," she lied, both staring at what lay in the very center of the clearing.

"Yeah, right. Are you sure? Because I'm fairly certain it isn't mine."

"If it were my imagination, I would have imagined something much more… reasonable."

His expression was priceless.

" _Reasonable?_ Since when is being chased by a werewolf, stomping giant spiders with the foot of Zeus, turning into a mermaid, a dark fairy, dressing like an assassin, playing dead in a lake in the clutches of an oversized snake, and calling me _Draccie_ considered reasonable?!"

Hera just smiled.

"Don't be jealous because my imagination is more unpredictable and awesome than yours."

"And you think _I'm_ the infuriating one."

"I'm sorry. I can't hear you over the sound of how awesome I am!" and she moved towards the clearing.

In the very center was a pit that fell at least a hundred feet into a pool of hot, boiling lava, and in the middle, with no way to get across, was a pillar of light resembling the end of the game.

Guarding that light was a dragon.

"Hera, how do you expect us to get around that?" he stated, following after her, rubbing the spot between his eyes in an effort to dispel the sudden pain in his head.

This was getting out of hand.

"We're going to have to work as a team," she explained. "You divert the dragon, I'll get to the center," and she went to move forward but he stopped her.

"Whoa! Yeah… I don't think so _darling_. What makes you think I _want_ to relinquish our mind bond so easily? You distract the dragon, _I'll_ get to the center."

"And what makes you think I want to initiate a snog-session with you?" she shot. "The _last_ thing I want right now is you shoving your tongue down my throat with your… _fingers_ having free reign over my body! I think _not_! "

He grinned darkly.

"Oh really? Because I was pretty certain just a moment ago you were thoroughly enjoying that."

"Listen here, you chauvinistic ass. Just because the things you can do with just your mouth are, I'll admit, pretty impressive, that doesn't mean I enjoy being assaulted against my will and without so much as a shred of dignity. If I let you win, you won't even be nice about it. Knowing you, you won't just gloat when you come to collect your _prize._ You'll push and take, and will end up trying to convince me to do something that you and I both know is a really _bad_ idea. I mean, bloody hell, Count, you-"

But before she could even finish, Dracula quickly wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her towards him and he covered her mouth with his other hand.

"Do you _have_ to use such profane language all the time?" he asked her, looking deep into her eyes. "Let me tell you something, Miss Hera Garret – and you are free to do with this information what you will. Truthfully, I have no idea why, so don't ask me anymore, but I _want_ to kiss you. Yes, that's what I said. I _want_ to. And no, I'm not going to force you or seduce you into doing something that _clearly_ you aren't ready for. Besides, do you honestly believe that I wouldn't make it pleasurable for you if I did? "

Her expression said otherwise.

"Well I'm going to let you in on a little secret that all your typical sad excuses for men don't realize," he continued, suddenly possessed with this need to make her understand that he wasn't as repulsive as she assumed. "If the woman doesn't enjoy it, then there is no real pleasure – whether it be kissing or foreplay, or sex. Both parties involved have to want it, and despite your infuriating denial, you are incapable of hiding how much you want it. I _know_ you want me. I can smell it on your skin, can feel the heat coming from you. I can also see inside your mind, so yes, you are right in that I will push and take because I am a selfish man, but I am _not_ a selfish lover. When this game of ours reaches its end, I will claim what is rightfully mine and you can fight what your body wants with every fiber and sinew in your being or you can surrender to it, and enjoy what I _want_ to bestow on you. But the choice is yours. Do you understand?"

Hera nodded her head.

Satisfied, he removed his hand from her mouth and took a step back, straightening his jacket and then turning towards the center of the maze. As he moved away, Hera continued to stand there, somewhat stunned.

He _wanted_ to kiss her?

He _WANTED_ to?

 _Why_?

She could hardly wrap herself around the idea. How on earth had the king of vampires taken such an interest in someone as unimportant and miniscule as her? Sure, she was that one thing that stood between him and the Valerious family, but her position didn't warrant this kind of attention.

So what was his endgame?

Did he just want to amuse himself by eventually turning her into a love-sick puppy or was there something far more nefarious at work here?

For all her supposed genius and intellect, she couldn't even begin to fathom the possibilities.

"Miss Garret?" Dracula called, turning to look back at her. "Are you going to stand there all evening, or might we proceed?"

Quite literally shaking herself from her stupor, Hera finally stepped forward and stood beside him.

"Do you have a plan?" she asked.

"Give me a moment. I'm thinking," and he scanned his eyes across the way, taking in what he had to work with. "The dragon is chained down, you see?" and he pointed. "Right there. We need to find a way to get her loose…"

"What do we do when she's loose?"

"I'll get to the center. I'll leave keeping the dragon busy to you." and he moved forward.

"I still don't get why I have to be the one to deal with the dragon!" she called out as he walked away, but he never answered. "I hate you so much," she grumbled to herself.

"No you don't."

"Oh, _that_ you heard!"

"I'll get her free, but once she is, the best is all yours… can you handle that?" he asked her as he stretched forth his hand.

"I guess so. I mean, by the time you actually get that chain off of the thing, I'll probably have some sort of plan…"

With a snap of his fingers, the chain was unhooked from around the dragon's neck and the creature's eyes homed in right on Hera, who cursed under her breath.

"And naturally, you give me _no_ time at all to even _think_ of a plan! Oh, my loathing of you knows no bounds!" she shouted as she hightailed it and ran from the dragon, which had just leapt for her.

The vampire laughed.

"I love a woman in denial," he sighed to himself, and with a wave of his hand, a bridge appeared, leading from where he stood to the center of the maze and he started to walk across, his hands casually behind his back as if he were merely taking a stroll.

Meanwhile, Hera was running for her life, thinking of what to do, scanning through her brain for something on dragons.

"Come on, Hera. Think! Okay, so according to Tolkien's _The Hobbit_ , dragon scales are impenetrable… no wait, is that even right?…" and she berated herself for getting distracted in the middle of her thought. "Gah! Hera! Focus! They can't be harmed, but the older ones always tend to have weak spots," and she turned to look at the dragon that had just taken a dive for her and her eyes widened as an idea dawned on her.

"The heart…" she breathed. "Damn it! I need Legolas!" she cursed and she spun around to see if her imagination would let him appear, but no such luck. But what she did find was a bow and single arrow. She rolled her eyes. "Someone please remind me never to play this stupid game again!" and she quickly ran over to the weapon and loaded it, pulling the bowstring back as she aimed.

"This better work!"

Then she released the arrow.

It sliced through the air, penetrating the dragon's weakness and the beast tumbled to the ground. Hera stared in disbelief as she dropped the bow from her hand.

"Well… that wasn't so bad."

Of course, imagining herself being able to shoot that good certainly helped. Diverting her eyes away from the dragon, she glanced back into the direction the Count had last been in. She noticed immediately that Dracula was almost across his mind-made bridge, ready to claim his victory.

Hera wasn't normally the sort of woman that went down without a fight, but before she could take a step to even attempt to stop him, something caught her attention. It was a very familiar shrill that even stopped Dracula in his tracks as he stood directly in front of the pillar of light.

"Master?" came Aleera's voice from the imaginary sky. "Master we must speak with you!"

Dracula and Hera made eye contact, and although they were at least fifty yards apart, she could see the blue of his eyes, his gaze asking her for permission to finish their game. She sighed in defeat and nodded once before turning her back to him, unwilling to watch as he stepped through the light at the center of the maze.

Almost immediately, Hera could feel herself being enveloped by something powerful and it washed over her entire being like a wave as Verona's voice now called for the Count. Darkness obscured her vision and her lids became heavy as an invisible energy enveloped her completely.

It lasted for just a second or two before it dissipated, and as soon as it had, she opened her eyes to find herself sitting on the sofa in Dracula's office once more, the Count still in the chair across from her, all three of his brides surrounding his seat as he came to.

"Master, we are sorry to disturb you," Verona apologized. She was sitting on the arm of his chair, gently stroking his face with her long, elegant fingers. Instead of looking at her, the Count's attention went directly to Hera who sat across from him, no doubt feeling as awkward as he.

"What were you two doing, master?" Marishka inquired as unsuspiciously as she could. "You've been in here for hours," and she wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, leaning against the back of his chair.

"Miss Garret and I were playing a harmless little game," he explained, looking at his three brides and finally offering them the attention and smile they so desired.

"Who won?" Aleera asked, suggestively rubbing his chest with her hand. Dracula smiled knowing in Hera's direction.

"I did."

The mortal, put off by the return of his more arrogant demeanor, rolled her eyes and stood to leave the room as the three women all giggled incessantly, continuing to stroke and fawn over their sire, petting him and touching him all in front of Hera. It made her sick, remembering the passionate confession he had made to her just moments ago… _during their game_.

And then Hera made a rather unsettling realization.

This really was all a game to him.

He didn't mean anything he ever said! He was just trying to take advantage of her, to manipulate her, to acquire her allegiance.

Well, she wouldn't stand for it. She already had feelings for Velkan (although she had barely thought of him since her arrival) and she was determined to keep it that way.

Dracula noticed Hera moving towards the door and he tried to stand up, although his brides kept him in his seat.

"Miss Garret, will you wait a moment please?" he called. "I still need to talk to you."

She turned around and sent him a thoroughly disappointed look as he managed to rise, all three women still hanging onto him in a desperate attempt to keep him with them… although Aleera was less eager than she usually was.

"I'd rather not," Hera insisted.

Dracula was about to protest when—

"Master, we have something we need to discuss with you," Verona interrupted, urging Dracula to return his attention back at her.

"It's about our children," Marishka added, her tone husked and deep as she slid her hand between his legs from behind and Hera could see the woman's brazen fingers peeking between his thighs.

Without so much as a word, the mortal quickly opened the door and exited from the room, shutting it behind her. Dracula sighed in frustration, his brides taking it as sign that they were pleasing him, but in reality, it was because he had let that human slip through his fingers.

 _Again_.

In all actuality, he didn't have too much of a choice. If his brides suspected the changing nature of his attentions towards the young woman, hell would break loose. So he did his best to forget the mortal for the time being as he concentrated on his brides. He _had_ been rather neglectful of them. Perhaps he could lighten up, but just a bit.

"What about them, Marishka?" he asked as she started kissing his neck.

"We want _more_ ," she answered in a feisty manner, her bluntness shocking him somewhat, and Verona noticed it, trying to smooth the request.

"My lord, you have not bedded any of us since we were in heat a few weeks ago," she explained, her mouth falling over his ear as her hand ran down the length of his chest, masterfully undoing the chords and buttons of his vest and shirt. His two younger brides ran their hands along the chiseled muscles of his abdomen as she continued. He felt himself harden as these women with glorious hands did what they did best.

"Do we mean so little to you?" Marishka whispered seductively as the three of them steered him to the sofa and had him sit down.

"Do we not please you anymore, my lord?" Aleera asked, running her fiery tongue up the length of his front as her two sisters enveloped him on the sofa.

Dracula struggled as they seduced him with their kisses, their hands, and their words.

There had been a time when he would have soaked in this kind of attention, a time when he'd take advantage of all three of them in a single sitting… _but that was a time before Hera,_ his conscience whispered into his mind.

It was Hera he wanted right now, not these three.

But he was torn.

Hera was a mortal, a human not of his time who had feelings for one of his enemies, not him _, even though the prince has used her. But she doesn't know, and she wouldn't believe you even if you told her,_ part of his mind insisted as his brides continued to shower his body in the kind of attention that most men only ever fantasized about.

 _You need to convince her that what she had with Velkan wasn't real_ , the other half of his conscience argued. _You need to convince her so when the blow comes, it won't hit her so hard. You know that when she finds out, she'll come running to you. You can already sense the change in her. As much as she resists your advances, she is starting to trust you._

 _True, but I don't want to be the one to hurt her. She's been wounded enough already as it is. The truth about Velkan will only hurt her more…_

 _She'll find out eventually. The sooner she does, the more chance you have of keeping her all to yourself. Remember why you wanted her to begin with, Vladislaus… you need her. She is the only one who can give you what you truly seek. Have you lost sight of that already? The time is drawing nigh. You need to make your move and soon. You don't have to fall in love with her. You just need to get her to trust you, and if you want to, make her fall in love with you so it will be harder for her to resist. Whatever you choose, you are running out of time._

Yes, he was running out of time…

He needed to find Hera.

He could take care of his brides later.

Besides, it was all just a game anyway… wasn't it?

* * *

 **Or maybe it isn't anymore? WHO KNOWS?!**

 **Well... I do, and so do my veterans. But the rest of you will have to wait to find out!** *insert evil laughter here*

 **Thank you for stopping by to read! Leave a review to let me know what you thought, if you had a favorite or least favorite part of the chapters, what you liked, what I could have done better, what you think the last two chapters could mean for the future of Hera and Dracula's relationship... and what is this mystery master-plan that Dracula's subconscious keeps bringing up? Hmm? Any suspicions or thoughts? I'd love to hear them!**

 **Hope everyone has a wonderful weekend! Chapter 29 will go live Monday morning, PST. Really excited for next week's chapters, by the way. We have a couple REALLY BIG game-changers and I can't wait to see/read your reactions!**

 **\- T**


	29. Much More Than a Kiss

**Happy Monday, my dearest readers! I hope everyone had a nice weekend! Mine was admittedly exhausting, though very pleasant, and I am really looking forward to hearing/reading your reactions to this week's chapters. Particularly Friday's** (you'll see why) **, but I don't wish to spoil the surprise, so my lips shall remain sealed for now.**

 **A huge thank you** alexc1209 **,** Scarlet Empress **,** She-Devil Red **,** Bloodsired **,** Madam Silver **,** 12345678910 **,** the invisible reader **,** RegencyPoet **,** jenny **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** ShadowSpade **,** niccalexandra51 **,** MercyShadow **, and** Nyx-Arae **for so faithfully reviewing the last two chapters. You guys certainly know how to spoil a girl ;)** *HUGS*

 **DISCLAIMER: if the title of the chapter isn't a dead enough giveaway, there's some citrus flavored goodness near the end of this chapter as things between Dracula and Hera take a bit of a turn... however, don't get** _ **too**_ **excited. The clothes stay on** (for now) **, but let's just say that the ongoing trend of their relationship deepening and developing continues here as we are building up to the inevitable. AND THAT'S ALL I'M GOING TO SAY ON THE MATTER! ;)**

 **Do forgive any errors I may have overlooked, enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to leave a review! Next installment goes up Wednesday!**

* * *

 **XXIX**

 _ **Much More Than a Kiss**_

Hera grumbled under her breath as she shoved a book back into its place on the shelf. She still had a few hours to kill before sunrise, which was when she usually went to bed—like everyone else—so she had decided to spend some of that time in the library. Maybe find something decent to read, while keeping her mind "Dracula-free" for a few hours, since he was so busy with his concubines. She honestly couldn't understand what he saw in them – other than their perfect looks, sexual prowess, and keen ability to adapt.

That made her stop in her tracks as her eyes widened.

 _Am I jealous of them?_ Hera asked herself.

She thought about it.

 _No, I couldn't be,_ she insisted silently. _That's the most ridiculous thing ever! Why would I be jealous of three perfect women who have an arrogant shadow of a man as a lover? Ha! I'd have to be mental! Besides, I love Velkan… right?_

Hera knew the answer to that question before she even finished it.

She didn't love Velkan. In truth, she probably never had in the first place. The woman had only been holding on to the notion in the vain hope that doing so would allow her to better resist the pull she felt towards Dracula. But she had been in the Count's house for nearly four months now and she had barely thought once of the gypsy prince during her stay here.

Whether it was Dracula's doing or some other force at work, Hera wasn't certain. But what she did know was that after Dracula knocked up his brides, he'd come looking for her, wanting his kiss. Well, she didn't care if he had technically won their game. She wasn't going to give him what he sought.

He just wanted to rub it in her face anyway and she wouldn't stand for it.

She deserved more respect than that.

Hera continued to walk through the rows of books, looking for something to read… anything really.

She just needed a proper distraction so she could stop thinking about Dracula.

Actually, she just needed to stop thinking, period, since her mind was still an open book to him.

Hera ran her slim fingers over a few more bindings before groaning in frustration as her contemplations returned back to Dracula again. Why was she still thinking about him?!

She needed something to do.

She needed to get out of this castle.

"I need a drink," the mortal concluded, promptly marching out of the maze of books and into the main sitting area of the library towards a large cabinet that, according to one of the servants, was stocked with a variety of liquors. Why a vampire needed so many options was beyond her, but right now she was grateful for the wide assortment.

"Count, you're turning me into an alcoholic," she muttered to herself, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and a glass. "Oh yeah Hera, that's good. Blame everything on the vampire," and with an exasperated sigh, she stalked out of the library and into the direction of that enchanted ballroom Marishka had shown her some time ago.

She felt like music—and drinking.

Not necessarily in that order.

Hera had never been much of a drinker before arriving in 1887 Transylvania. But all the stresses and drama that she had been forced to endure had pushed her into it. At least, that was her rationalization. What she didn't realize was that her newfound weakness was about to send her world of order and reason into chaos.

She entered the enchanted room, shutting the doors behind her. The thick heels of her boots created a light clicking sound as she made her way over to the piano and took a seat, opening the virgin bottle of whiskey and then pouring herself two fingers because it sounded like a good idea in her head.

The young woman would have preferred to leave the fortress and run off her pent up energy and frustrations, maybe get some proper fresh air, but she was stuck here and since she was desperate for some immediate relaxation that didn't require her to be naked in a tub of steaming water, she turned to drinking.

Hera raised her glass of whiskey to the moon.

"To you God… for sending me here to this blasted place and time," and she took a nice swig, nearly choking on the fowl stuff.

It burned as it ran down her throat and crawled through her system, and though the horrendous taste sent her shuddering, that fire in her belly felt good and she poured herself another glass before deciding to run her fingers over the piano.

She didn't really imagine anything as she played, so nothing in the ballroom really changed. The only difference was the moon appeared notably larger than before, and a mist spread over the dance floor, giving off the appearance of clouds.

It started off as a simple tune… one from her heart.

And with it, after the melody had been distinguished, came a lush array of chords and arpeggios, all swirled together like the alcohol in her brain, and when played together came the most heartfelt music Dracula had ever heard.

He had left his brides, explaining to them that he needed to pursue Hera, to continue to work on her so she'd join their side, and that even if it meant wooing her, he'd do it. His brides ate it up, especially after he claimed that they were the only ones he even remotely cared about, that he didn't want another bride.

But of all the lies the Count had told them over the centuries, that one in particular was the most profound.

The vampire would never admit it, but for reasons he could not yet understand, ever since he had met the mortal, he had felt drawn to her… like he could trust her. Everyone from this time period seemed to feel that way about her. Velkan had been ensnared by Hera's natural charm almost immediately; Anna, though stubborn, had felt that pull too, as had Boris. His brides - with the exception of Aleera - had also been rather quick to trust and respect the young woman, although that trust and respect was in limbo right now, since their master spent nearly every waking moment with her.

But Dracula…

There was something about the human that seemed to draw the vampire in time and time again, simultaneously igniting _and_ nourishing a seemingly endless curiosity, an unfathomable need to know and understand her in every particular.

Her insecurities, her fears, her occasional irrationality and bad temper, her deep understanding and appreciation for history, her playfulness, the way in which she challenged him at every turn, inspiring him to try harder, to do better – Hera seemed so much like the sun to him, and try as he might, he could not resist her gravitational pull. Even now as she sat alone at the piano, pouring her soul into every note she played, he could not deny the ever present need to be near her.

Although he was blissfully unaware of the irreversible change the woman had inspired in him, Count Dracula was even more ignorant of the fact that he was slowly falling in love with not just some woman, but a human. And what was more – in that very instant, he couldn't even see that she had already begun to fall for him as well.

Tragically, both parties involved were too proud and in too great a state of denial to so much as recognize that what resided now between them had become so much more profound than mere lust or physical attraction. They were drawn to one another on an almost spiritual level, a calling of one soul to its perfect mate, its lost half.

They were like two stars preparing to collide, and had Hera and the Count been aware of the supernova-like explosion such a collision would create and the consequences – both good and bad – that would thus ripple through time, perhaps they would have proceeded with more caution and care.

But stars destined to crash and shatter into one another are prisoners to gravity, and nothing in heaven or hell could have kept Dracula from entering that room and silently shutting the door behind him.

He carefully bent the young woman's will with his own so his presence would go unnoticed and as he stealthily made his way across the floor, Count Dracula allowed Hera's music to saturate his very person. The song she was playing had to be the most soulful and intimate composition he had ever had the pleasure of listening to, and though her older sister, Athena, may have been the true virtuoso in the family, Hera was a remarkably gifted musician in her own right.

He loved watching how her fingers flew effortlessly across the keys, playing whatever came into her head, occasionally reaching for her glass as one hand continued to play.

An expression of disapproval narrowed his brows.

She was drinking again… Yes. That was _his_ fault, he'd take full responsibility for ever introducing her to the dozens of liquors that she had never been exposed to before.

He was about to intervene when an idea so deliciously roguish crept into his mind. The woman still owed him a kiss for their game and in all honesty, he wanted to give her her freewill back, but she had to earn it. And he knew just how to do it.

Moving quietly towards her, he slid onto the piano bench beside her, breaking the spell she had been put under by the music and she ceased her playing.

"Why'd you stop?" he asked.

"I didn't know I had an audience," she said softly, her fingers sliding off the keys and into her lap as she stared down.

"You play beautifully," he commented.

She never looked up at him, remaining passive and as indifferent as she could.

"Thanks."

Silence lingered in the room for just a moment or two as she remained quiet and apathetic, trying to think of something to say as she sat there. Hera knew why he was here. He wanted his prize. _His kiss_. She was so certain that that was all he wanted from her. But was it?

"What do you want?" she asked, deciding to get some clarification.

"Your mind seems resolute on the answer already," he replied with a hint of resentment. It took her by surprise and she looked over at him with curiosity.

"Isn't that why you're here?" came her query. "Because you want your _prize_?"

"To be honest with you, Miss Garret, I hardly know why I'm in here. I just turned down a kind of _saturnalia_ with my brides so I could come and sit here with you."

Hera cringed visibly and covered her ears with her hands.

"Okay, WAY too much information, Count! TMI! TMI!" she exclaimed, the two of them laughing. "Oh God, a vampire orgy is not an image I want in my head… just… _no_! How do you even manage to keep the three of them satisfied in one sitting anyway? Seems like too much work to me."

"I am _extraordinarily_ talented," he said with a sly smirk and a sideways glance. Hera chuckled.

"Yes, well, I'd appreciate it if you kept the details of your exploits to yourself."

"My apologies. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he insisted, the remnants of that rare laughter still present in his eyes.

"So explain to me why you have three brides in the first place," she continued. "I mean, I guess I kind of get the appeal of more than one sexual partner, but three _wives_? And all under the same roof? Don't you ever get tired of drowning in the estrogen?"

"That's a fair point, and admittedly, I often find myself wondering what I was thinking," he said. "I seriously wish at times that I had stuck with one."

"I can only imagine."

She glanced over at him as the laughter died away, her face turning more serious.

"Why did you choose them, though?" came her question. "How long after Ilona did you turn to them? Verona came first, didn't she?"

His expression turned reminiscent as he stared blankly into the distance.

"It was only a matter of years after my demise before I found Verona," he explained. "You know, there are times when I look at her and I genuinely feel guilty for siring her," he suddenly confessed, not knowing why he trusted this human with such personal information, something he had never told anyone before, but it seemed like such a natural thing to do.

"Verona had so much to live for," he continued, "and I took that from her, with no thought for what that would mean to her down the road. She has proven to be the most devoted, has stood by my side through it all … although I often wonder if it's my innate willpower over her or her own choice. I think it's the former most of the time. But she provides equilibrium between the three of them. Where Aleera and Marishka tend to be the younger, more _spirited_ of the bunch, Verona brings a balancing maturity, an elegance that the other two lack. Though don't tell them I said that. The last thing anyone in this household wants is for the three of them to quarrel."

Hera remained silent as he confided in her, not willing to break this moment. She was being permitted a rare glimpse of who he was, what he felt underneath all those layers of secrecy and torment.

"Then there's Marishka. Her father was all she had, until I had unwittingly fed off of him. Haunted with guilt and obsessed with her beauty, she became my second bride and for some time it was just the three of us, until I happened upon Aleera just under a century ago. I'm so hard on her. I think it's because she reminds me so much of Ilona. Sure, she's a jealous little minx, and that's mainly why I had chosen her. I had saved her you know. I found her one evening, in an alley in the city of Bucharest, on the verge of being defiled. I fed off her attacker and offered her a life she couldn't refuse. She used to call me her savior for years after that… until she realized what she had gotten herself into."

He grabbed Hera's glass of the whiskey and downed what remained in a single breath, hardly moved by the liquid amber fire that slid down his throat. Alcohol rarely offered the sometimes much-needed escape he so often craved.

"All three of them knew I could never love them, and they understood why. But… like most women, they are so damn persistent, surrendering to the delusion that they can change another person if they try hard enough." He refilled the glass and offered it to Hera, looking directly into her eyes. "Except you. You hardly care if I pay attention to you or if I act as though you're invisible. You know, as I do, not to get your hopes up, to be wary when trusting people, to keep them at a distance. You've learned the hard way."

Hera took the offered low-ball glass from the Count, watching as another appeared in his palm out of thin air and he poured himself a drink, raising it to her.

"To us," he toasted. "Our misfortunes and our tragedies; that God may reimburse us for our trouble."

"Amen to that," she muttered and he watched as Hera knocked back her drink like it was a shot before he followed suit, taking the bottle and pouring both of them another helping. "Lord, this stuff is disgusting," and she shuddered as the alcohol ran down her throat, setting her insides on fire. He nodded, placing the bottle back on the piano.

"It is… even when you're dead."

She laughed at his comment and leaned back on one arm, facing him a bit more now.

"I wouldn't know," she chuckled. "But I'll take your word for it."

"Do remember when you had that dream a while back… the one when you and I-"

She stopped him before he could even finish.

"You don't need to recount it for me. I think it's safe to say I will _always_ know which one you're referring to," she insisted, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment at the memory. "Just get to the point."

"As you wish. Do you recall the part when I had asked you why you had been resisting me for so long? And then you explained—somewhat—that the reason was something along the lines of the fact that you were scared to give your heart and trust away because of all the times you've been disappointed and used."

"And then I said that I knew you truly felt nothing for me," she finished, following the admission up with a small sip. "Yes, I remember."

"How many poor relationships have you had?" he asked. "Just out of curiosity," and he took another drink, watching her closely.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, considering that we have a good few hours before the sun rises, and you _still_ owe me a decent conversation, so… you may begin."

She rolled her eyes, but complied with his request.

"Are we talking actual relationships or would you like me to include _flings_?"

"You have categories?"

"You don't?"

"I didn't think women had categories for sexual partners."

"The more you know," she sang cheekily, but then she stopped, quickly realizing he wouldn't catch the reference.

"Why don't we stick to actual relationships – the times you've had your heart broken."

"Very well." She straightened a little. "For starters, I've had my heart broken more times than I'd care to admit to."

"Give me a number."

"Alright, this may take a moment. Let's see…" and Hera decided to go over all the relationships she had ever had. "My first official boyfriend I had when I was thirteen. I was tutoring a boy who was considered popular, I suppose, and though we never really had anything in common, he was nice and attentive. The relationship itself only lasted two months."

"Why?"

"His parents couldn't afford to pay for me as a tutor and because he wanted to pass his classes so he could take a trip with his rugby pals that summer, he took advantage of me. When I found out that he was using me, I broke it off."

"Rightfully so."

"When I was fifteen… no, I was sixteen. When I was sixteen, I went out with this sophomore at Oxford who was four years older than me. His name was William Connors, and he 'swept me off my feet,' to put it mildly. He was charming and intelligent, which seems to be my Achilles heel. For my seventeenth birthday, he took my virginity."

"Was it what you wanted?" he asked, a strange, noticeable hint of concern in his voice.

"I was pressured into it," she explained. "I regretted it immediately afterwards. Especially when I found out later that he was cheating on me… using me to boost his grades and his image. The next one was intended to be a rebound, but that became serious as well. His name was Eric Kenway. I dated him to get my mind off of Will and he was going out with me to make some girl jealous so she'd leave her boyfriend for him. The sex wasn't half bad and the two of us got along really well, but he dumped me six weeks later because he finally got the girl he had been originally after. My next boyfriend was Athena's boyfriend's brother, actually. His name was Henry, though everyone called him Hal. He wasn't at all like his older, deceased brother though. He was a total narcissist. Selfish, manipulative, and really insecure."

"How long did that one last?"

"Over a year. How many am I at so far?"

"Four."

"The next one was Hugh Christian. I was twenty by the time I started dating him."

"And that one lasted for…?"

"Three years. Actually, I really liked him too. We got along really well, had a lot in common, and were fairly compatible intellectually – as least by comparison to some of the other men I had previously been with. We even talked marriage at one point."

"So what happened?"

"He did a semester abroad and ended up falling in love with someone else. He finally told me after he had gotten the girl pregnant."

Dracula visibly cringed.

"That must have hurt."

"Like hell," Hera continued, pouring herself another glass, drowning the old, familiar depression in the comforting buzz the whiskey offered her. "I was a mess after him. The string of guys that followed Hugh were all mindless trysts, me attempting to fill the void he had left me with. The last and most recent relationship I was in was with some spoiled prick named Thomas Prichard. I suppose you could say he's the whole reason why I wound up here in the first place."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, after I broke up with him, I slipped into the usual misery I normally do after a nasty separation - lots of wallowing, complete with ice cream and sappy movies. My best friend, Hailey Stevens, brought me to stay in London with her so I could get over it faster. Well, my last night there, I had challenged God, and the next thing I know, I'm standing in Frankenstein's laboratory, you're ready to tear his neck out, and the year is 1887. Not to mention, in my time, you are nothing but a myth romanticized by an Irishman named Bram Stoker, Victor and his monster are actually characters in a book written by a woman named Mary Shelley, and the surname 'Valerious' is vaguely cited in history. Nowhere does it mention you or the feud or even Ilona, outside of her being your second wife."

"No wonder you were so shaken up when we had first met. You probably thought you were dreaming or something," he sympathized.

"Or had lost my mind. But it turns out I'm not dreaming, and I don't think I'm insane, do you?" she asked playfully. The Count just smiled.

"Only on rare occasions," he teased. "So, that leaves us with a grand total of six failed relationships."

"Yay me."

"I'll admit, knowing more of your history now certainly explains a few things."

"Like what?"

"Well, for one - you clearly have a type."

"I do?" she asked, but he only continued.

"Then there's your contradictory ability to simultaneously trust and keep people at a distance. You have this uncanny gift to appear open, and yet so much of you remains closed off. Oh, what's that lovely little colloquialism I overheard you sharing with Marishka a few weeks back? Ah yes – you're a hard nut to crack," and he said that last bit with a faint smile.

Hera, not in the least bit offended, nodded her head in acknowledgment to his statement and offered a smile of her own.

"Now you know."

"Although it makes me wonder – given your past, I'm still curious why you were so eager to trust the Valerious boy," he said, unable to help himself. He didn't care if this made her uncomfortable. He wanted to know.

"I don't know. I guess part of it was me needing something after the disintegration between Thomas and myself, before I had even arrived here. The unfamiliar aside, I was craving some semblance of stability, of affection."

"So in essence, _you_ were using _him_."

Hera sent him a look.

"Now wait a minute. I didn't say that. If that was what happened, it was at first, and unintentional. I don't know; I like Velkan. He saved me from _you_ ," she reminded him with a pointed look. "And he stood up for me when Anna was intolerantly suspicious and rude. I don't know, we just got along easily. We were friends before we ever… you know…"

Dracula wasn't entirely enthused with her answer and she could see it by the disapproving look on his face as he stared at the piano.

"Yes. I know thoroughly. I witnessed the whole thing, remember?"

"I still can't believe you watched us have sex!" she exclaimed.

"Well, technically, it was mostly _listening_ to it. I didn't really _see_ much of anything, so you have nothing to be worried about," he assured her, though the way his eyes dipped down to her breasts for the briefest of moments made her blush ever so slightly.

"That still doesn't make me feel any better," she insisted, turning away from him so she could place her glass on the piano next to the empty bottle. Hera could still feel his eyes on her as she sat there, and this sense of nervous anticipation attacked her insides as she felt him move a bit closer to her on the bench.

"What do you think of me, Hera?" he asked her after allowing the silence to linger for a moment, his tone notably softer than it had been previously.

He reached out and brushed her hair from her face before curling a soft lock around his finger.

"What do you mean?" she asked, straining to keep herself from making eye contact with him.

Her eyes would betray her for sure. He'd see right through her, down to the lustful core that lay hidden beneath layers of walls and insecurity. She couldn't let him know what he made her feel, what she longed to do more than anything with him.

"I think you know," he whispered, moving her hair to one side, leaving the right side of her neck vulnerable.

She felt like fire when he looked at her like that… white hot and yearning for fuel. One of his long fingers ran down the length of her spine and she shivered just slightly at the feel of his touch, a mere blouse away from the skin of her back.

"What do you think of me?" he asked again when he leaned forward, the tip of his nose gently brushing against her ear as his breath caressed the skin of her neck like that of a lover – soft and attentive.

"It doesn't matter what I think, Count," she answered, pleading with herself not to give in to his touch and that husky tone that reduced her to liquid. She felt his hand grab a fist full of her hair as he moved her head to one side, exposing more of her throat and he stared at it longingly.

"No titles here, Hera. You know my name... _use it_ ," he urged her, his remaining hand running up her thigh.

Hera felt her body's treacherous reaction the second after he spoke her given name – that moistening between her legs, the heating of her flesh. Oh! The urge to melt into his hands, to let him do as he pleased with her. She knew she'd enjoy it, even if it was all a lie. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she surrendered to a lie. His lips brushed against the lobe of her ear and her eyes fluttered shut.

"Vladislaus," the woman breathed as his hand slid from her thigh to her shoulder where he pulled the sleeve of her blouse down, exposing the soft, pale curve that led to her arm and he showered it with slow, meticulous kisses.

Hera was helpless when it came to him, she always had been. That's why she started to half-heartedly retreat, not wanting to surrender so easily, not when she was convinced it wasn't real, not when she wanted so desperately for it to be.

"What's your hurry?" he purred as he felt her try to pull away from him. He gently grabbed her arm and tried to bring her back.

"I can't do this," was her excuse. "You don't mean it."

The look in his eyes said otherwise.

"Are you sure?" was his suave response as he drew her closer, his eyes fixed on hers, ensnaring her senses and even a fraction of her will. He wouldn't let her slip through his fingers again… not that easily. He went to move in and kiss her, but she placed her hands square on his chest and weakly pushed him away, trying to distance herself.

"I'm not sure of anything right now."

He raised his eyebrows in a suggestive manner as he seized her wrists, slowly leading her hands down his front, permitting her to feel what she had been secretly longing to touch. She could feel the firm and flawlessly toned muscles beneath his clothes and her body suddenly ached. She wanted to resist, to break the spell he so effortlessly spun, but he held her hands, forcing her to touch.

He was in control of the situation… and she had no say, no hope of denial.

He would not allow it.

Hera breathed an oath, her fingers itching to feel his cool skin, but he led her hands back up to his chest, only to run his own palms up the lengths of her arms, slowly, keeping his eyes on hers the entire time.

"Your heart is racing, my little spitfire," he whispered.

"I wish I knew how to say no to you," she sighed, falling deeper into his eyes.

"Your will is strong enough," he taunted softly. "But perhaps there's more to your desires than what meets the eye?" and he went to move in for another kiss when she turned away a second time, his lips pressing against her jaw instead.

She half expected him to get irritated with her; but instead, he started kissing her jaw, moving down to her neck as he tugged on her sleeve, freeing her shoulder while his seducing lips went to work.

"You are such a tease… pretending to resist when I can taste your lust from here…" he cooed before sinking his dull, human teeth into her shoulder.

The woman groaned softly as he placed hot, steamy love-bites all over the pale curve of her shoulder, continuing to melt into the hands that were pulling her closer to his body and between his legs, as he was now straddling the bench.

He left a trail of fire on her skin each time his lips touched her, wrapping her tighter and tighter around his finger. Her eyes were closed in a euphoric ecstasy of personal delight, her lips parted as arousal hijacked her brain. She felt hot and wet, throbbing in this desire and the harder she tried to resist him, the more powerful her longing for him became.

Dracula lifted her chin with his fingers, guiding her eyes to meet his and she stared at his mouth, craving for those lips to press against hers.

Never before had she longed to taste him as much as she did in this moment. She was lost in those swirling, hypnotically glowing eyes and she felt all resistance flee from her body. Her denial was futile when it came to this man. Everything about him oozed sexual prowess and promised pleasures untold and though Hera's rational mind told her that surrendering would be foolish, her libido was saying otherwise.

"You still owe me a kiss," he whispered, resting his brow against hers. He wanted her to move first, it was so evident. Normally, that would have been incentive enough for her to pull away.

But she couldn't. Even if she had wanted to.

The alcohol had lowered her inhibitions and had muted the more logical part of her brain. Hera twisted her body so she faced him better, a hand resting on each of his strong thighs.

"That's right, I do," she breathed as he licked her mouth while she spoke, urging her to advance, to react. "You still want your _prize_ …"

"That's not all I want from you," he husked, grabbing the hands that rested on his thighs and moving them higher up, pulling her even closer.

"So how many requests do you owe me if I kiss you first?"

She was stalling, and it amused him.

"You have to mean it, Hera… convince me…"

"Convince you of what?" came the nearly inaudible breath and he watched as she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.

"Make me believe… rekindle my heart…" and he lightly licked the tip of her tongue as it ran over her lips like some kind of animal.

He tasted good.

"Only if you promise to do the same," she said.

"You have my word."

"And you're a man of your word, aren't you, Vladislaus? Never making idle threats or breaking promises…"

"Never," he inhaled, and then she leaned forward and kissed him.

She held her lips against his for about two or three long seconds before he responded, his lips gently parting open and she followed in his lead, her mouth sinking down to his bottom lip and barely closing around it as his lips closed again. He reacted a little bit faster this time, as he ran his gently open mouth over hers before pressing a little firmer against hers, the passion that had been simmering within him coming to a boil.

He kissed her—long and hard, his hands taking her arms possessively, not allowing her the pleasure of twisting her fingers through his hair or running her hands up the length of his body. Although his kisses sated her more than anything else, she still longed to touch him, and the fact that he was purposefully denying her this pleasure infuriated her, making her own kisses more heated.

Hera soon realized what she had done as he held both of her wrists in his one hand, restraining them as his other hand twisted and tugged lightly at her hair, forcing her head farther back as he towered over her. He drove headlong into her mouth, his masterful tongue caressing with an expertise that left her weak and helpless.

She had kissed him.

And their official game had been over the moment her mouth had touched his. They were no longer bound by blood, which meant she had her mind and freewill back completely now and the realization of what she was doing hit her hard.

She was kissing him _still_!

He wasn't making her; she was doing it on her own.

That had to mean she felt something for him.

 _Yes!_ her mind screamed emphatically as he continued to plunder her hot, pulsating mouth. It all made sense now—the butterflies in her stomach, the raging inferno in her lower abdomen, the throbbing moistness between her legs, the maddening longing to touch him back as he ravaged her — she wanted him and she wanted him _bad_ , had for the past few months now.

It felt so good, his mouth moving against hers, hearing each impassioned breath that left his lips.

Then another realization hit her.

 _Velkan…_

That single name brought Hera's wave of euphoria to a crashing halt as she began to struggle just slightly against him.

"No-" she panted. "I can't do this."

Apparently, he would hear nothing of the sort, because he only held her tighter and kissed her longer, his mouth becoming more and more difficult to say "no" to.

"Yes you can, Hera… you already are…" and he sank his teeth into her jaw as passion swept him off his feet and she whimpered loudly, her body slipping into the oblivion that he was creating—forbidding her to touch him, and all the while setting her flesh and soul ablaze.

Only he could do that.

Only he could make her crave something that powerfully.

"Why can't I touch you?" she whined softly, her eyes clenched shut in ecstasy as he suckled the flex of her neck, the spot closest to the beginning curve of her shoulder, low enough where it could be covered by her clothes, but in just the right spot where her sensitive and virtually untouched skin would come alive.

And still she struggled against him, trying to free her hands so she could hold his head in place, run her fingers through his raven silk hair, lead his passionate mouth back to hers. He never answered her question, but he did return his lips back to hers, satisfying her somewhat.

Dracula was astonished to find that when he did this, she responded immediately. She sucked his tongue, drove hers into his mouth and kissed him with a fervor he'd never felt in her before and it pleased him a little bit more than it probably should have.

"You're getting really good at this," he commented breathlessly between kisses. She pulled her head back a bit to look at him.

"I was bad before?" she asked, sending him an incredulous look.

He just smiled as he stood up from the bench, her wrists still in his one hand as he pulled her off the seat and suddenly he had her pinned to the wall in the shadows on the far side of the room.

"No spitfire," was his lust-drunk response. "Not at all. Actually, you are remarkably deft for a mortal your age..." and then he held her wrists to the wall, his mouth soon mere inches from hers, his cool breath having turned hot like hers.

"So what are you getting at?"

"Practice makes perfect," he purred and he stole her mouth selfishly once more. "God, you're _delicious_ ," he growled, drinking in her tongue that had found its way into his mouth, exploring and tasting each and every crevice—a bold move he had not expected, but delighted in.

"If I remember correctly…" she said between kisses, playfully biting his lower lip, "… you owe me a request," and she tried to twist her wrists out of his death grip, but to no avail. Instead, he held her harder, keeping her eager hands down, remaining dominant and in control, much to Hera's frustration.

"That's right, I do," he remembered. "Let me to remind you… you aren't allowed to request your freedom, nor am I permitting you to see the _little_ prince. Understood?" and he buried his face into the flex of her neck and Hera nearly died as his hot mouth tortured the flesh.

"I know what I want," she moaned, voice slightly pitched, tone desperate. "I know what I want."

"Are you sure? You only get one of these, Hera… _anything_ you ask for… it's yours…" and he made love to her ear with his tongue.

Feeling mischievous, he closed in on all the space that existed between them, pressing his body against her comparatively smaller form, his thick cock pushing against her lower belly and she gasped loudly, wanting to grab his waist so she could hold him wantonly against her.

Oh, how she yearned to run her hands all over him, to see what lay behind his shirts, behind his perfectly dressed facade, to lose herself in him.

Hera was selfish and she wanted more.

"Let me touch you," she whimpered as he nibbled her lower lip, but he paused upon her request, a strange look in his eyes.

"What did you say?"

"Let me touch you," she said once more.

And it wasn't a question… it was her request.

The one thing she desired of him was the chance to touch him, to feel him beneath her palms, to be as in control of the situation as he was, to be his equal, a participant. And the request took him by honest surprise, and she saw it.

"Hera, I…" he began, only to be interrupted by the faraway sound of one of the servants calling for him.

"Master?"

Dracula had to bite back the profane curse that was itching to come out. That was the second time…no, the _third_ time today that someone in this household had interrupted the two of them. Would he ever be permitted a moment's peace around here?

"Master! Where are you?" the servant shouted.

The voice was getting closer, but Hera's gaze never faltered as she stared directly into his eyes.

"It doesn't have to be now," she whispered. "But someday soon…when _you're_ ready to let me."

Dracula remained silent as he stood there, one foot in two different worlds. The first was here in this moment with Hera. How he wanted to let her in. He didn't know why, but it felt right. It had been centuries since he had opened up to someone, since he had been vulnerable and in such an intimate way. Perhaps Hera could be that person. On the other hand, his duties, his image, his reputation, his pride… they were all at risk; even more so when the servant opened the door.

"Master! Igor recovered more of Victor Frankenstein's notes!" the servant shouted, hardly aware that Dracula still had Hera pinned to the wall.

The Count turned his head to face Emma, the servant, but then he returned his attention to Hera as if considering. The human offered him a reassuring smile as he took one step back, her wrists sliding through his grasp before her hands were finally free. Although momentarily torn between this woman and the progeny, with the mortal's nod of support and an encouraging smile, he was given the push he needed to take care of business.

His eyes were filled with unmistaken longing as he excused himself from her presence, briskly heading towards the exit and the servant who still stood in the doorway.

"Do you have them with you?"

"No master. I was just told of this. Igor is still in the laboratory at the castle back in Visceria. He wanted you to come down immediately."

"Do your mistresses know of this?" he asked.

"No. Would you like me to inform them?"

He sniffed the air.

"No. It is almost sunrise. I'll tell them tomorrow evening after we are certain that what we have retrieved is of benefit. We wouldn't want to raise false hopes as we had last time."

"Of course not, master," and she watched as Dracula marched quickly into the hall. "Miss Garret, will you be needing anything?" Emma then asked, realizing the mortal had been in the room as well.

Hera quickly regained her composure.

"No. Thank you. I'll be retiring to my room early," she said lamely.

"Very well, miss. Oh, Jane wanted me to tell you that she left some food for you in your chambers by the fire. Since you've hardly eaten a thing today."

Hera smiled, thanking the servant girl with a nod of her head before she retreating to her room, her mind awash with bewildering thoughts as she shut the doors behind her, blocking out the uproar the entire fortress was now in, thanks to the news.

Dracula didn't want his brides to know?

Ha!

Too late.

Hera sat down on the edge of her bed as she absently listened to the sound of the brides running amuck, the servants rushing through the halls, spreading the word, following through with the various orders the Count had made before his abrupt departure. Yet, despite the chaos outside her doors, Hera was lost in a completely different world.

Why had she made the request she had?

Was it simply because of the moment?

Or was it something more?

Hera hardly knew as she changed into her nightclothes before crawling into bed just as the sun began to creep over the horizon.

She was so confused… so guilty… so torn.

Only moments ago today, she had sworn she'd never kiss him, having reminded herself of her still somewhat lingering feelings for Velkan, and she gave that all up in a matter of seconds? Hera finally began to comprehend the gravity of the "love-triangle" she had found herself in since she had arrived here.

Velkan loved her, and she still felt something for him, but deep down, a part of her had started to fall in love with Dracula. She realized that in a way she had always been partial to the vampire, and for reasons she couldn't fully understand, it left her feeling rather horrible.

She couldn't just abandon Velkan like that – not after everything he and Anna had done for her. But her lust for the Count, this aching need he had inspired in her – she could not ignore it; not anymore.


	30. The Warning

**Many thanks to** She-Devil Red **,** Arianna Le Fay **,** Scarlet Empress **,** alexc1209 **,** 12345678910 **,** the invisible reader **,** RegencyPoet **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** ShadowSpade **,** bloodsired **, and** MercyShadow **for reviewing chapter 29.**

 **And for the record, I make no apologies for the ending of this chapter... you'll see what I mean.** *insert evil laughter here* **Chapter 31 goes live Friday morning, PST... yes, you read that correctly. You only get one more chapter this week instead of two. But have no fear... it'll all be worth it!**

 **Forgive the errors, don't forget to leave a review, and ENJOY!**

* * *

 **XXX**

 _ **The Warning**_

The following three months passed far more quickly than expected. Hera rarely saw Dracula after that night in the enchanted ballroom when she had given him her request, as he was often commuting between Visceria, Budapest, and then back again to the icy fortress nearly every day of the week.

That fateful evening when Victor Frankenstein and his creation had died, a fire had broken out in the laboratory, destroying most if not all of Victor's research and a good chunk of the lab equipment. Initially, Dracula had managed to recover just a few pages, but they proved useless.

However, the notes Igor had happened upon by chance were exactly what Dracula needed. So he had been spending all his time replacing equipment, getting the laboratory in working order once more, while struggling to decipher the charred pages of the late Victor Frankenstein.

His brides would usually remain in the icy fortress, a buzz about the work on the progeny, seeing to their master's every need when he'd come home exhausted and irritable. Hera did her best to stay out of everyone's way, usually lingering in some remote corner of the library, spending hours in the enchanted ballroom, or hiding out in her room. When Dracula was home, she made sure to remain in her bedchambers, under the guise of not wishing to be any trouble, though in truth she was avoiding the vampire.

The only time Hera was ever in his presence were during their weekly visits, which were often postponed or cut short and there was always someone else present in the room with them. Their conversations were often superficial at best, the pregnant silences rife with tangible tension which remained unaddressed.

They never talked about what had happened that night she had surrendered, nor did they discuss the request she had made of him. After a time, Hera was convinced that he had either forgotten or was purposefully not bringing it up and she assumed that this was because her kissing him had been all he wanted in the first place. He had been vying for her submission for months and though the moment had been fleeting, it had perhaps, in her mind at least, been enough for him.

So Hera grew to accept the solitude that had been forced upon her, persuaded that the growing distance between Dracula and herself was a product of his will, evidence that he truly felt nothing for her outside of his need to control her.

This became abundantly clear to her when she had overheard him one evening, passing by his office, in the throes of passion with his two younger brides. The sound of his pleasure elicited small tremors of jealousy and lust to pulsate through her and humiliated that she had allowed him to get under her skin, she had quickly retreated from the hall, purposefully avoiding that corridor for the duration of her stay.

The three months dragged on slowly, and as the end of her stay grew closer, she found herself missing the Valerious siblings more and more. She missed Anna's laugh, Velkan's stories, and her long afternoon walks in the sun.

 _The sun._

She hadn't seen much of it since her arrival here and it suddenly dawned on Hera that she had missed the season of summer completely. It had to be late fall by now and her heart fell a little. By the time her last week in Castle Dracula arrived, Hera was counting down the hours until she could leave.

At long last, the eve before the conclusion of her seven-month stay in Castle Dracula had arrived. The woman had already packed what few belongings she had, along with putting everything that wasn't hers in its proper place. She was in the library this particular evening, returning the dozens of books she had borrowed back into their proper places.

Being far too occupied with her own thoughts as she wandered between the shelves, Hera never noticed the Count's entrance into the room. He watched her in silence as she moved down the aisles, her stack of books gradually decreasing.

His brides had left for the city of Braşov to feed and socialize for the next day or so, which provided the Count the rare assurance of no distractions. He hadn't seen much of Hera in the last few weeks and since the human remained blissfully unaware of his presence, he lingered in the shadows for a time, content in observing the mortal undisturbed.

Truth be told, one of the main reasons he had been so wrapped up in the progeny work was because of the request she had made. It had taken him by surprise – he had expected maybe a request to take a trip outside, perhaps even some jewels, or that chai tea she was always talking about. But no, all she wanted was to touch him, to be treated like his equal and the entreaty not only astonished him, but it even forced him to take a step back and reevaluate his own feelings on the situation.

Dracula had realized something that evening – he had been losing sight of the whole reason why he had been pursuing Hera in the first place.

What had started out as an opportunity to seduce her, to use her for grander and far more reprehensible purposes yet to be revealed, those motives had instead morphed into something honest and genuine, like gaining her trust, her admiration, and even her affection.

He had been stealing her heart, and in the most honest and _human_ way possible.

That must have been why she made the request she did, he assumed.

She was falling in love with him, and this wasn't the usual lust mistaken for love sort of situation he was used to—the kind he had originally intended. Instead, he had unwittingly begun to penetrate her heart. This meant that if and when he broke her heart, she'd tear away from him and never come back.

So, the vampire had spent the last three months trying to decide how to fix this problem, but nothing ever came to mind simply because he too had been gradually falling in love with her. Naturally, Dracula didn't refer to it as such; he'd _never_ admit to such a thing. Instead, he rationalized it as respect, admiration, and even a kind of fond attachment. She had grown to be the one soft-spot in that stone cold heart of his.

And it frightened him.

How it happened and why was a complete mystery to him, as he had mentally retraced all his steps, trying to identify where he went wrong. She was attractive, tempting to be sure, but so naïve and innocent, so untouched and unexplored, and so eager to trust him, to see the best in him.

Lust could not be the driving force behind what he was feeling, he silently realized. It was something else, something he couldn't place his finger on.

He continued to watch her as she moved about through the rows of shelves, completely oblivious to his presence as he continued to study her, following her silently, his gaze keen and attentive as she went to put away her last book and it was in that moment that he chose to make his presence known.

"That one belongs on the second floor," he commented, catching her attention. "Ovid's _Amores_ goes upstairs."

She smiled somewhat before moving out of the row to head to the stairs when he met her halfway, gently taking the book from her hands, silently offering to put it away for her. She nodded, giving him a rather timid thank you as he vanished, only to reappear again on the first floor after he had put the book in its proper place.

Hera began to head toward the door.

"Where are you off to?"

She stopped and turned.

"My room. If that's alright? I had planned on turning in early tonight."

"Perhaps not just yet, if you please," he said, and he motioned towards the sofa by the fire. "I think you owe me at least one last conversation before you leave tomorrow."

Taking a deep breath as if to steady herself, Hera situated her person on the nearest sofa, her silence – her consent. When she was comfortable, he offered her refreshment, but she quietly declined and at last, he took his seat beside her, though not too close.

There was an uncomfortable tension between them and they were both very much aware of it.

"How has the work with your progeny been progressing?" Hera asked, not knowing what else to talk about.

"Not as well as I'd like, but we start testing next week."

"The monster is alive?"

"No. I intend on using Boris Valerious," he stated rather indifferently. "I want to see if it will work with just a human being."

"It won't work," Hera said, feeling his gaze on her almost immediately. "But, naturally you won't believe me until you see it for yourself."

Silence.

"You will not inform the Valerious siblings about my experiments, will you?" he asked.

"I fear I could not, though a part of me may want to for the sake of Boris," she admitted. "Fate or some other unknown force forbids me from sharing my foresights and knowledge about the future."

"Then why did you just tell me the experiment wouldn't work?"

"Apparently it will make no difference whether or not you know," she replied, staring at her hands. "You'll kill Boris anyway, simply because he's your enemy, and you'd delight in nothing else but his demise. I guess there's no real point in telling you or not telling you."

"Yes. I suppose that's true."

Silence lingered again, much longer this time as they sat there, until the Count could stand it no longer.

"Miss Garret?" he asked, watching as she turned to meet his gaze. "Why do you trust me?"

He didn't feel like easing into the question, so he just spat it out. Count Dracula was fairly blunt by nature, unless it suited him to be otherwise. Yet despite Hera's understanding of this, the question confused her and she sent him a puzzled look.

"What do you mean?"

"I have given you no… justification, no real reason to trust me. And yet you do."

"I don't trust you, Count," she chuckled, looking away uncomfortably.

She noticed how he moved closer to her on the sofa out of the corner of her eye and she felt her heart skip a beat.

"Yes, you do," he said, reaching for her chin and leading her eyes back to his. "I can see it in your eyes every time you look at me." He repeated his question. "Why do you trust me? Why are you so willing to put your faith in _anyone_? Especially after all the times you have been disappointed, taken advantage of? I have given you no reason to have confidence in me. All history refutes the very notion, and still you do. And with the one thing you should be guarding with your life."

He placed his hand intimately over her chest where he could feel the beating of her heart.

Dracula didn't need to say it for Hera to know what he was referring to. She stared down at the large hand that rested over her breasts, unaware of the whirl of emotions and thoughts that were swimming through the vampire at this moment.

A part of him yearned for more intimate contact, but he could not act on his feelings.

He had claimed to be hollow for all these years for a reason—so he wouldn't fall victim to a woman, so he could stay focused, guarded… _safe_. Safe from the unknown that love offered, the lack of surety, the insecurities, the fear… the hope.

Hope, in his mind, was poison, unsympathetic and unforgiving.

It would pollute and destroy anything and anyone and in the Count's mind, it was an infectious disease he had been trying for the past four centuries to rid himself of—hope that he would be able to achieve all of his greatest aspirations and desires, that someone out there could make him feel complete, that someone could see past the monster and bring out the honorable man in him, the one that lived before loss and despair had ruined him.

Hope had made him believe that Hera could be that person, but he couldn't take the risk. Especially because of one driving factor, a single reason that all of the rationalizations in the world could not refute:

She was a human.

He was a vampire.

It would never work, and deep down he knew that. History had proven that time and time again.

Even if he allowed himself to fall in love with her, he couldn't just damn her soul, just to keep her with him for all eternity. Love, he knew from rare experience, clouded his better judgment. It made him reckless and unpredictable, and what was worse – in his mind, love never really lasted.

It was a powerful emotion that made the strongest person weak.

The Count was not about to become one of those weak individuals again. Not if he could help it. He had to fight what he was feeling, try to get Hera to understand that she wasn't _truly_ in love with him, if that's what it even was. He had to help her realize that he was a monster, although deep down he hated the notion.

But it had to be done.

Too much was at risk, too much planning and scheming would go to hell if he let his attachment for the human cloud his vision. He had to treat her as a tool—a means to an end. After all, that's what she was—wasn't it?

"Count?" she said softly as his hand fell from over her chest to rest on her knee, her voice breaking the silence.

"Do you know what you're problem is?" he said abruptly, looking up and into her eyes. "Do you know why it is so easy for people to use you, to take advantage of you?" His questions took Hera by surprise, and she couldn't find the voice to respond. "You are so naïve," was his answer as he stood up from his seat suddenly, towering over her. "You're too vulnerable. Despite your intelligence and your wit, you are, quite frankly, the most gullible woman I have ever met!"

" _Excuse me_?" she said, bewildered by this outburst.

"Don't act like you're surprised. You know it to be true!" he insisted. "From the very beginning, when I could have easily killed you, despite the fact that you _knew_ this, you still were willing to trust me when our paths had crossed again. To make matters even worse, you were all too eager to put your faith the Valerious family, to believe _anyone_ even though every single person on either side of the board has been deceiving you, using you, taking advantage of you! I just don't see how it's possible. Are you really _that_ easy?" he asked, raising his voice a little.

Hera didn't argue with him. Instead, she remained completely calm, composed—although his proclamation of her greatest flaws were difficult to endure.

"I like to give people the benefit of the doubt," she answered. "Even the monsters who rarely, if ever, deserve such an offer," and the pointed look she gave him spoke volumes.

"You are absolutely right! I don't deserve the benefit of _anyone's_ doubt! My character has already been etched in history! I am _bound_ to what the world thinks of me! You know this, and still you trust me!"

"I don't trust you _,_ Dracula, stop flattering yourself!" she snapped at him.

That seemed to silence him as he stood there, looking down at her with power and conviction, although internally, he wanted nothing more than to hold her and apologize for how cruelly he was treating her. But he remained firm, unmoved as she explained to him something he'd never really understand.

"Unlike every other being on the face of this pitiful earth, Count, I have had the rare privilege, the scarce opportunity to see glimpses of the man you are capable of being," Hera explained. "While the rest of the world and those closest to you see nothing but the beast that you insist on being, during the past months, even before my stay here, I have been able to see _you_ – Vladislaus – not the façade of Dracula that you wear before the world. I don't trust the monster, Count. I trust the man."

"He and I are not much different from each other," Dracula began, but she interrupted him.

"I don't believe that's true."

"Well, _I'd_ know!" he shot, partly out of frustration for her interjection and partly out of passion. "The only difference between the man and the monster is one was weak and the other is not! One allowed himself to hope and trust, while the other forbids it!"

Hera said nothing at first. She only continued to look into his eyes and the pity in her gaze bothered him deeply.

"That doesn't change anything," she insisted, rising from her seat so she could stand in front of him, still holding his gaze.

"I am warning you now, Hera," he said, using her given name for emphasis while pointing a finger at her, unaware that his eyes were beginning to betray him. "Do not let them use you. If you want to avoid being hurt, question everything and everyone. Don't let anyone take advantage of you, especially the Valerious family. They will only hurt you. Velkan and Anna will only hurt you. _I'll_ only hurt you. I will use you, I will take advantage of you, and don't think I won't. They are no different from me where our feud is concerned and both of us view you in the same light – as a means to an end. If you want to walk out of this war unscathed, you _must_ remain indifferent. Don't let yourself be vulnerable… don't open yourself up to anyone."

"Not even you?" she asked, unconvinced by his speech, although significantly troubled by it.

"Never trust me again, Hera Garret," he replied earnestly. "I will only ever disappoint you."

The Count had to strain to keep himself from grabbing the woman's face and kissing her with all the passion that existed within him.

He wanted more than anything to throw everything he had just said out the window and just make love to her on the sofa beside them… to run his fingers through her hair, to feel her body, her heat against him, to bury his aching need inside of her… to experience the love and the pleasure he knew she could create and keep it selfishly for himself.

It took everything inside of him to resist that urge as he motioned for her to leave, his eyes glued to her as she exited from the room, wounded by the supposed truth and confused by his profession of it.

Hera silently retreated upstairs for the last time to her bedchambers, deciding that perhaps she could kill the rest of the evening by sleeping, since it was her plan to leave first thing in the morning. She arrived to find Jane stoking the fire. Hera was greeted with a pleasant smile from the servant as she entered her room, shutting the door behind her.

"Good evening, Miss Garret," Jane called as Hera removed a nightgown from the bureau.

"Hello, Jane."

"Retiring early this evening, miss?"

Hera nodded, laying the nightgown over the edge of the bed as she proceeded to remove her boots.

"Yes. I plan on leaving in the morning."

"I see. Are you using the mirror?"

Hera cocked a brow as she peeled off her stockings.

"You mean the obelisk looking piece of granite in the front of the fortress? No. I thought that was only a one-way thing."

"Things are not always as they seem," Jane replied with a knowing smile. "Especially to one not bound by the past…"

The wheels in Hera's mind began to turn at the maid's proposition.

"You mean to say, that-"

"Since you're not meant for this time period, Miss Garret, perhaps you're not bound by the laws that we all are. Besides, I think that'd be a far more pleasant and convenient route back to Visceria versus the option of going with Igor."

Hera nodded, moving behind a changing screen so she could put on her nightgown without having to lie under anyone's gaze.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. I'll have to try that out early tomorrow morning then, before the fugly imp arrives."

"I'll inform the little beast if it does indeed work," Jane offered with good humor, her hand appearing within the changing screen and Hera handed the woman her clothes before pulling on the white, cotton nightgown over her head. It was a simple number that was wide in the neck which caused at least one of the sleeves to always slide off one of her shoulders, leaving the flesh exposed. Normally, she found it a little irritating, but considering how stuffy the room was with that fire going, she figured the thin, lightweight material was suitable for her last evening in Castle Dracula.

As soon as she was dressed, she came out from behind the screen and laid out her clothes for the following day. Jane finished tiding up the room and bathroom, making sure everything was comfortable and to Hera's satisfaction before preparing to leave.

"Well miss, is there anything else I can get for you?" she asked, turning down the linens on the bed before putting out most of the lights.

"No, Jane. Nothing at all."

The vampire smiled and turned to leave when Hera called out for her.

"Jane?"

"Yes, Miss?"

"Thank you for everything. I don't think my stay here would have been half as pleasant as it was without you."

Jane smiled, bowing her head in acknowledgement of the compliment.

"It was my pleasure to serve you. Out of all of the master's guests, you have been my absolute favorite. And I mean that."

"I hope I'll have the chance of seeing you again," Hera offered.

Jane's smile broadened as she opened the door to leave.

"I'm sure you shall, miss. I'm sure you shall. Goodnight, Miss Garret."

The door was soon shut, and Hera was left alone in her bedroom.

She could scarcely believe that she was leaving tomorrow morning, that she'd soon return to seeing the sun, being out of doors, and in the company of Anna and Velkan. It was a strange feeling, that realization, as she made her way about the room, putting out the remainder of the lights, save the candle on the stand by her bed and the roaring fire in the hearth, which provided a soft glow to the otherwise dark and shadowed chamber.

Hera was about to climb into her bed when she noticed that Jane had accidentally dropped the blouse she had been wearing earlier on the floor by the door. With a loud sigh, she moved over to pick up the piece of clothing when an unexpected knock at the door startled her.

The young woman smiled, immediately assuming that it was the housekeeper, coming back for the missing bit of laundry.

"Forgetting something, Jane?" she chuckled as she went to open the door. "It's not even that dirty. I don't know why you'd have to clean… it."

What she found on the other side of the threshold standing out in the hall wasn't Jane or any of the other servants.

It was Count Dracula —and he looked impulsive.


	31. Hell at Heaven's Door

**DISCLAIMER** **: Friendly reminder that this story is rated "M" for a reason, and one of those reasons is going to be shining through in all its unapologetic glory for the entirety of this chapter - all 9 pages of it. If you are easily offended by sexual content, I will** _ **not**_ **be insulted if you choose to skip this one.**

 **I have spent** **WEEKS** (literally) **agonizing over this chapter. I have read it and reread it; I've edited it and combed through every single line dozens of times; I have torn it apart and put it back together, have tweaked and added and subtracted and just... yeah. I have never labored over a chapter in the way I labored over this one. It's true, there was a lot of pressure to get this right, but I also wanted to make sure the scene itself was tasteful, yet satisfying. Hopefully, I have done my job well.**

 **Would appreciate your feedback when you are finished reading.**

* * *

 **XXXI**

 _ **Hell at Heaven's Door**_

Dracula's body was tense and his eyes bore into Hera's with an overwhelming authority, as if his very gaze could see past her clothes, beyond her skin, and into the darkest recesses of her soul. The woman did her best to shake off the sudden anxiety that had swept through her system, but she found it to be near impossible, as her heart had already begun to beat a little faster.

"Oh Count, it's just you," was all she could think to say.

Why was he standing in her doorway?

What did he want?

"I thought you were Jane coming to get the rest of my laundry," she explained lamely, trying to laugh off the tension, uncomfortable as she continued to linger under his scrutinizing gaze.

He hadn't said anything.

He was just… staring at her; this towering, menacing figure in black taking up the majority of her doorway.

The hall behind him was dark and empty and from the sound of it, there wasn't a single creature – living or otherwise – anywhere near them. For the briefest of moments, Castle Dracula felt void of all life except for herself and the man standing in front of her and the thought of being so totally alone with him sent a strange thrill shooting through her.

"Are you alright? What do you want?" she finally asked, unable to bear the mounting tension for much longer. His response made her visibly tremble.

" _You,_ " and he took a step towards her, crossing over the threshold.

Hera instinctively retreated with a single step back, the blouse dropping from her hand and onto the floor.

Dracula noticed the doubt in her eyes when he said that. He had said it before—but only in her wildest dreams.

"That's not funny, Count," she insisted, figuring he was making a mockery of her, but his expression suggested otherwise.

"I don't say such things lightly," he replied, privately reveling in the way her heart was racing in her chest.

"I'm sure you usually don't," she answered bravely. "But considering what you just said to me not thirty minutes ago, you could have no reason to want…"

But before she could even finish, he had reached for her face and then his mouth was on hers.

Hera stood there, paralyzed with shock as he kissed her without warning or permission, and it wasn't until he eased up a bit that she began to relax in his hold, her mind slowly registering to what was happening. He began to plant softer, gentler kisses on her pulsating lips, drinking her in a little at a time until he could feel her kissing him back, giving in gradually, hesitantly; bit by unsure bit.

A shuddering breath moved past her lips, the faintest hint of a sigh following after it as his spidery fingers ran through her hair, twisting and tangling, bringing her closer to him as he kissed her deeper and deeper still. The light caress of his icy breath left a delicious tingling sensation that sent shivers down her spine.

The intensity of his kisses graduated into depths she was not accustomed to and soon they were strong, powerful, and agonizingly profound.

Hera heard the door shut behind him, the loud click of the lock informing her that _no one_ was leaving this room. It sent a wonderful twisting, coiling sensation through her lower abdomen and she became aware of a blooming heat between her thighs. His nearness had awoken a fire in her, and it yearned to be properly unleashed.

Dracula drove into her mouth with his tongue and she accepted it without question, her hands falling over his, keeping them on her face as he started backing her up. Hera felt the back of her thighs collide with the bed before he gently led her down onto the mattress, continuing to ravish her mouth, one soul-consuming kiss at a time.

He slid his comparatively larger hands over hers in a slow, sensuous sweep, palm against palm, before entwining his fingers with hers as they rested on either side of her head. Slowly releasing her lips, the Count finally drew his head back to look into her eyes.

Such trust in them … such beautiful, naïve trust.

The beast within longed to take advantage of that trust, to abuse it—to abuse her, to make her squirm and wince until she eased into the pain he created, until she learned to love it. She wouldn't stop him. It was all there in her gaze.

But the man buried deep within his blackened soul longed to please her, to make _love_ to her, instead of the mindless debauchery he was so accustomed to. He wanted to be as vulnerable as she, even if it was for just a few hours; he was willing to spare them.

That's why he took her hands and led them to his chest before resting his elbows on the bed at her sides, allowing her to do as she had longed to do for almost a year now.

"Touch me, Hera," he commanded her softly, his voice low and deep like the rumbling of thunder. "Touch me now."

And touch him she did.

Her hands slid up the length of his chest where she found the clip of his cloak. She unclasped it with ease, absently observing as it fell back, off his body and to the floor. He studied her carefully as her quivering fingers slipped inside of his jacket before pushing it open and off of him, then unbuttoning his vest and shirt.

Dracula remained silent and still as she quietly undressed him, his eyes fixed on her face, taking in every crease, line, and spark of expression that came across her features. He could sense how nervous she was, her beautiful susceptibility.

Her cheeks had a becoming flush to them, her heart now racing wildly behind her breast, and though he was fully aware of her anxiety, he did nothing at present to soothe it. He wanted her to feel, to embrace every sensation, and so he reveled in her timidity, holding her gaze as she continued to disrobe him.

The look in her eyes made something forbidden and divine swell within him as he felt her coy fingers brush against his soon naked chest. She finished removing the rest of his shirts, the offending clothing pooling on the floor at his feet and she paused to take in the sight above her.

Hera had hardly noticed him moving her back onto the bed until they were in the center of the mattress, his boots clunking to the ground as he climbed with her, only to perch himself above her. He urged her with his eyes to touch him some more before he dipped in low to distract her with another round of mind-numbing kisses.

Her apprehensive hands slid over the length of his hairless torso, tracing the defined abs with her fingers and caressing over his chest where his flat nipples tickled her palms. Then her hands smoothed up his sides to his back where she could feel the power in his surging ribs, the perfectly toned muscles making her weak with desire.

Lust, unrepentant and raw, burned in her eyes when she caught his gaze again; openly wanting him unlike any other man she had ever met or would ever meet again.

Hera assumed deep down that she would undoubtedly regret this later… but in that moment, she didn't care, and neither did he.

"Are you going to use me?" she whispered softly, remembering his warnings from earlier.

He grabbed one of her hands and pressed his lips avidly against her palm before whispering his response.

" _Yes_ ," he purred, the single syllable rolling off his tongue. "Remember when I told you that I would make you love and hate me in equal measure?" She nodded breathlessly. "I'm going to ravish you, Hera. And I promise, you are going to love every minute of it."

A strong shudder made its way down her spine when he said that as the sexual tension of almost a year was finally promised a proper release. It was an overpowering sensation and just the suggestion of what was to come made her burn.

Dracula kissed her for a while longer until she had grown more comfortable with him being so close, and as soon as she was ready for more, he stopped and sat up slightly, his knees straddling her legs as he located the hem of her nightgown. He pulled it up and over her head and then off her body, tossing it to the side.

When her nakedness fell under his gaze, he paused, momentarily taken aback at how stunning she looked lying beneath him.

He stared for a good long time until she started to roll onto her side, curling up a little in response to self-consciousness, along with the chill of the room. The man couldn't seem to take his eyes from her; they moved over the curve of her hip, down the length of her thigh.

Dracula put his hand on her shoulder in an act of reassurance and stroked a slow path along her upper arm, then down to her waist, and she shivered at his touch, never taking her eyes from him as he moved his hand lower, sliding the back of his fingers gently over her upper thigh.

Resting his hand on the young woman's hip, he lightly caressed the flesh for a moment as his gaze made the slow voyage from the copper curls between her thighs back up to her breasts, and finally to her face.

There was nothing either of them could say in that moment, but a world of unspoken longing passed between them, coupled with a profound approval on his part that made it a little easier for Hera to lie there, so vulnerable beneath him.

Oh how long he had wanted her, how many times he had imagined this moment, and yet nothing could have prepared him for the vision that lay before him now. In that instant he was aware of no flaw or blemish – only the beauty of her soul, as if she were some celestial deity, this bed her altar, and he was suddenly consumed with a desperate need to worship her.

Dracula slightly pushed with his hand until she rolled onto her back again, his body moving down upon hers, chest pressing her into the mattress as he took her mouth with his in a kiss that shook the woman to her very core. He breathed in deep as his lips slid over hers, as if he were trying to inhale her very essence, dragging it down his throat and into his lungs. Hera opened to his kiss immediately, welcomed it and responded in kind. Their mouths locked – taking and releasing; suckling and freeing; over and over.

The Count clasped her hip to hold her closer to him as he shifted his lower body over her, nestling himself between her parted legs and then moving against her, making sure she could feel just what she did to him as he fed from her mouth, swallowing the loud groan she released while he grinded against her.

The only thing that separated his skin from hers were his pants and it didn't take long for Hera to grow especially impatient with the barrier.

Dracula soon became aware of the way her fingers were fumbling with the belt around his waist and her increasing frustration made him smile against her lips. He could hear the very racing of her heart, it was so loud, and with every kiss and touch he gave her, he could sense her mounting excitement.

Needing to slow her down and keen on deepening the extent of her pleasure, he whispered her name, which seemed to momentarily placate her. He rested his brow against hers, as his fingers joined her at the stubborn leather strap and with some effortless maneuvering on his part, he unfastened the buckle then loosened the laces at the front of his pants.

Hera's fingers seemed to have a mind of their own as she returned his kiss before the eager digits slipped behind the waist of his pants. He grinded once more between her parted thighs, and the friction elicited a breathless moan from the woman, his adoring lips on her neck and the feel of his still clothed erection taunting her proving to be quite the distraction.

But her fevered brain knew what it wanted. Determined to have him as naked and vulnerable as she, her bold hands found their courage as she pushed the waist of his trousers down while his hips moved against her, the palms of her hands smoothing over his naked ass as she did so.

The touch of her hot skin against his was electric, and he felt his body's reaction all the way down to the tip of his shaft as Hera brought her knees up so she could pinch the fabric of his slacks between her toes and push the offending clothing away with her feet.

"My greedy, impatient little spitfire," he whispered into her hair, a dark amusement in his voice. He could feel her body beginning to rise to meet him and he rolled his hips away, denying her. "Patience, my precious thing… all in good time," and before she could offer a word of protest, he kissed her soundly, distracting her so he could finish shrugging out of his trousers, kicking them off his ankles so he was completely bare above her.

The feel of her skin against his was like stepping into a warm bath after spending a lifetime in the cold. With the feel of Hera's arms wrapped around him, holding him to her as they continued to kiss and move against one another in a way that was almost fluid – he could feel the natural cool of his flesh beginning to thaw.

Dracula was evidently content in kissing her, one hand kneading the breast in his hand while the other kept him from lying on top of her completely, but it was not enough for the mortal. Her kisses had become more full, more ravenous, taking whatever he offered her with fervor and yet she was always left wanting just a little bit more.

"Vlad," she whimpered between kisses and her imploring tone sent him smirking once more against her skin as he playfully bit and suckled the side of her neck.

"Yes, my spitfire?"

"I – I _need_ …" but she couldn't seem to get the words out.

"Where do you need me, darling? Perhaps here?" and the fingers that had been caressing the side of her breast danced once around her nipple before pinching it between two digits.

Hera's spine involuntary curled, arching her up and against him in response as a soft whine escaped her parted lips.

" _Yes_."

"Or maybe…" and those same fingers began to lightly caress on a downward path over her ribs, across her smooth abdomen.

And then he slid one hand between her legs until his fingers were intimately enveloped in the slick dampness of her heat and he purred like a large feline in deep approval at the sound of her satisfaction.

"There we are."

She was soaked and exactly where he wanted her and his skin crawled in delight at her responsiveness to him.

Dracula breathed her name as his lips brushed over her pulsating mouth. He eased a single digit inside of her and she sucked in a sharp breath at the bold intrusion. Hera held his face in her hands, lost in his gaze as she felt him thrust it in a little farther before curling the finger so the tip could rub up against her pelvic wall and she mewled in pleasure.

His eyes were beginning to brighten, a gorgeous contrast to the widening blackness of his dilated pupils as he memorized every detail of her expression, her clarity and awareness when it came to where he was touching her and how unbelievably good it felt.

Adding a second finger, the Count delved a little more deeply, kissing her again. The digits then began to move, in and out, in and out, mirroring the rhythm of his steady breath as he continued to kiss her and it drove her wild. She arched against him and then cried out when his thumb brushed over her clit.

The tempo he had created with his hand sent her writhing beneath him, her heart racing, and still she wanted more.

"Vlad, _please_ ," she begged him, one of her hands twisting in his hair as her pleasure continued to intensify.

"Not yet, my little spitfire," he purred, kissing her fingertips that were hovering over his mouth. "Enjoy this. I will take you when I'm ready and not a moment before," and the rhythm of his fingers became more purposeful.

He swallowed nearly every moan that came out of her mouth while tracing her lips with the fingers of his free hand as her hips rocked against his other.

Before Hera could tumble over the edge into a world of delirious ecstasy, he removed his hand from between her thighs without warning, depriving her. She began to descend back down and before she could curse him for his cruelty, his lips and hands found her breasts and though it wasn't entirely what she wanted, she accepted the offering, trusting him, reveling in the attention and the pleasure that came with it.

Dracula could not recall a time in recent memory when he had willingly put the pleasure of a woman – a mere mortal at that – before his own fulfillment. Lord knew the human was primed enough; she was soaked and aching for him already. And yet he had this need, this unrelenting desire to please her. So he continued in his veneration of her exquisite body, worshiping the fleshy prison of her soul with his hands and his mouth, relishing in her sexual gratification and the beautiful sounds escaping her pulsating lips.

When the intensity of her pleasure had ebbed considerably, his lips departed from the swollen peaks of her breasts, descending downward, lower and lower still, and then his hands lightly pushed her thighs farther apart, baring her most intimate places to his view.

Before Hera even knew what was happening, his head was pressed between her legs and he was tasting her. He licked deep and her entire body shuddered, back arching as the most wonderful noises escaped her and Dracula had to hold back his smile. Her hands gripped at the linens of the bed, toes and spine curling in response and he took that as consent to ravage her.

And ravage her he did.

Hera was too lost to the sensation of what he was doing to her to even be embarrassed or self-conscious about just how intimate all of it was. Just when she thought he was beyond holding back, he surprised her, latching on as he sucked, groaning his own pleasure as she moaned and whimpered, uttering his name in irreverent tones. It was almost indecent, the way he masterfully touched and tasted her, but she let him do as he willed because she couldn't bring herself to do anything else.

She could feel him inside her head, savoring and partaking of her every sensation, of how she was acutely aware of every taste bud on this tongue stroking and stimulating her clit as he penetrated her with his fingers once more, working her in a way that awoke every nerve in her body. He'd bring her to the brink repeatedly only to stop suddenly, easing her back down with caresses and soft whispers before starting up again.

The pain of being denied what her flesh now wanted more than anything was an exquisite kind of pleasure Hera never knew existed, and it left her reeling.

After what felt like an eternity, Dracula brought her to the edge once again only to stop and having endured this torture several times, the woman growled and then whimpered in frustration and need. Her whole body seemed to be pulsating as he moved his mouth and hands away from between her trembling thighs. She knew his eyes were on her, watching as she regained herself, the tension ebbing away gradually and when she felt slightly sane, she finally met his gaze.

His eyes were glowing, irises like liquid pools of azure fire, burning brilliantly around large pupils, which unrepentantly drank in the sight of her.

"I want you to come with me inside you," he explained.

His answer to her unasked question was more of an insistence than anything else, reminding Hera of how much he loved being in control and though she wanted to make him pay, the way he looked at her had her forgiving him almost instantly.

"Your body won't be accustomed to how powerful your release will be," he added.

The words lacked any trace of the arrogance she had anticipated from him, but were instead full of sincerity and care. The sound of his voice soothed her raw nerves as he tenderly caressed her flushed cheek with the back of his hand.

"But when you come," he continued with earnest, "I want you to know and forever remember that it was me who created that within you… me who possessed you, blood, body, and soul."

She was panting, shaking.

It was true; her body wasn't accustomed to this kind of torment, this kind of intense pleasure. Usually, when Hera had had sex in the past, the rare orgasm was a fleeting, three-second experience, and that was if she even reached it. Most of the ones she had briefly enjoyed tended to be self-constructed, and often the side effect of curiosity and nothing more.

But this man –

He had managed to put her on the brink at least a half-a-dozen times now and he hadn't even fully consumed her yet. It was unexpectedly poignant, the way he was putting her desires above his own, and the newness of that luxurious gratification opened the doors for what could easily be a dangerous addiction.

For the first time in her life, Hera finally started to understand why his brides were so obsessed with him, why women seemed to throw themselves at his feet – he was a god among men and the things he had awoken in her inexperienced flesh confirmed that.

Dracula moved up the length of Hera's body and she opened her legs a bit more to better accommodate him. He lowered himself slowly and then he entered her, deliberately at first, one methodical inch at a time. His lunge was steady, but careful, and she tensed a little at the feeling, unused to his size and shape.

This was a real man making love to her, not a boy.

He filled her, stretched her and it was clear from her soft whine that there was some evident discomfort. But he didn't change his pace. He pressed on, deeper and deeper, and then he took her knees in his hands and lifted them, pressed them wide and slid into her even further than before, softly moaning when he realized how tight she was.

Hera whimpered, close to asking for mercy.

She felt full, stretched—but if she felt that way, it was what he wanted and it made her want it too. So she remained accepting, clinging to him as she allowed him to thrust as far as he desired, simply because the pleasure that was rapidly muting the discomfort had paralyzed her and she could do nothing else.

His thrusting was slow at first, purposeful, as if he wanted her aware of every inch of him whenever he pushed or retreated, of the friction of his length against her insides, of the way he touched deeper than any other man ever had. His pace and the force behind each rock of his hips gradually began to increase, slowly, teasingly.

Hera wanted more, but he wanted her to want.

To crave.

So he held back, _damn him_.

Her hands slid down his back where she gripped his backside and tugged him into her. When he still didn't give her enough, she dug her nails into his flesh and flashed her eyes open, staring up at him with that sharp gaze he just couldn't say "no" to.

"Harder, Vladislaus. Faster."

It was almost a growl.

He stared down at her, overcome with her, drowning in her mortal heat and essence, the foreign power in her voice, the illicit sway she seemed to have over him, and his control shattered.

If his Hera wanted more, he'd give her more.

So he took her, hard and fast.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, linking her ankles at the small of his back as she held him to her. How she withstood the force he was using she didn't know, but she did, and still it wasn't enough. It was never enough and Hera silently begged for more. Dracula slid his hands beneath her backside and tipped her hips up so he could penetrate even more deeply, holding her to him to take every thrust, every inch, every ounce.

The Count listened closely to the sounds coming out of her, eager to hit her at just the right angle and when she made the noise he had been looking for, he allowed himself to get lost in the sensation of being inside of her.

A thin sheen of sweat laced his rapidly heating flesh, running down his back and neck as he continued to push, losing all reason, all rationality… all he saw and felt and smelled and tasted and heard was her. This breathlessly gorgeous human beneath his body that was moaning, gasping, and biting at the sky, her eyes clenched shut in an overpowering ecstasy as she neared the precipice.

His own vocal response was deep and strained as he clung to what little control he had left. But everything about her felt so good and so right and her pleasure was only intensifying his own.

Just before Hera could tumble over the edge of bliss and into oblivion, he gripped a fistful of her hair with his hand and pulled her head back as he kissed her before bending his head to her neck. The sound of her rapidly beating heart, pumping all that fresh blood through her body, drowned his crumbling discipline in an undying need.

Velkan would never have her!

No other man ever would!

He vowed this as his fangs lengthened and he lowered his mouth towards her neck as she drew ever closer to the edge. Losing all reason, he bit down, sinking his teeth into her jugular, shocking her, and then feeding on that delicious blood as he plundered and took without question.

Hera shrieked his name—his real name—as she came, her soul ascending upwards into the stars as he drove into her just a few times more before joining her in a world of unspoken ecstasy. They clasped at each other while the spasms of a seemingly endless orgasm ripped through both, bodies straining, his shaft piercing her depths, his bloodstained mouth licking her neck clean. Her back was still arched, her arms and legs locked around him, and she trembled from the force with him still inside of her.

Hera hardly knew where she ended and he began, but she didn't question it. Nothing had ever felt so right in all her life and she savored every sensation – even in the sound of the vampires labored breathing and deep groans of gratification, in the spasms that sent tremors through the lower part of his body and into hers.

The tension had shattered at long last, and after riding the extended waves together, everything gradually came to a halt.

From what Dracula could sense, although the woman was profoundly satisfied, she was exhausted and would certainly be sore in the morning. But he didn't care, deeply pleased with the deliriously contented smile on her face, her eyes closed as her mind hummed.

He almost said something witty, perhaps an arrogant "you're welcome," but he resisted the temptation, and instead rolled over onto his side so he could hold her possessively to him, her body close to his as she immediately began to drift off to sleep in his arms.

As she slept, her flesh continued to radiate with that beautiful post-coital afterglow, and it was then that the Count's conscience emerged from its stupefied slumber as it began to vocalize all kinds of thoughts, questions, and realizations.

He should not have done that, he suddenly told himself. He never should have come up here. He should have stayed in the library, or gone to his chambers, or his office…

What had he been thinking?

But he hadn't been thinking.

The Count stared up at the ceiling, lost in the music of the night as his thoughts tormented him—he saw his mistakes, where he had gone wrong.

And he saw himself, lying next to this creature.

He glanced over at the worn and sleeping human in his arms, and though a small part of him felt guilty for taking her as he had and the implications that came with it, seeing the soft smile presently curving her lips made it all easier to bear. He gently moved the luxuriant mass of her hair away from her neck so she wouldn't become overheated before draping his arm lazily over her hip, soon contenting himself with merely staring into her slumbering face.

She was so beautiful to him in that moment – nothing could ever compare.

Although he felt more filled and at peace than he had in centuries, he still wondered what the bloody hell happened, how and why he had allowed hell entrance into heaven. As much as he had thoroughly enjoyed their interlude, Dracula knew deep down that what they had done would change everything.

* * *

 **My dear readers,**

 **I'm not quite sure how to word this. I've drafted what I would like to say a half-a-dozen times now and I'm still not entirely satisfied. I have had a lot going on in my life for some time now and let me just say that your kindness and support have helped make dealing with my present struggles a good deal easier. But I fear I've run into a bit of a problem lately and I would be amiss if I didn't address it.**

 **Understand that I am not in any way intolerant of criticism. Quite the contrary. I welcome it – so long as it is tactful and the person giving it remains civil and respectful. I also want you to understand that I am not calling anyone out or writing this in the hopes of making any of you feel bad. I genuinely believe that all of you are decent human beings at heart and that none of you intend to say things out of maliciousness, but rather out of good fun.**

 **Unfortunately, I think we sometimes forget that expression and gestures do not come across in written messages, and because of this, what some of you may have intended to be teasing or joking or gross-exaggeration of feeling has instead come across as belligerent and rude. I am also becoming admittedly irritated with those that feel they have the right make demands of me surrounding the actions of characters or the direction of this story** (or any story) **in general.**

 **Because of this, I want to make something very clear: I am not writing this story in accordance to your whims.** _Ink on a Page_ **was written almost a decade ago and I have never had any intention of rewriting it just to placate anyone. I did it because my veteran readers politely asked me to and because I care about them and felt I could do that story even better justice than I did originally, thus my spending** (and _continuing_ to spend) **countless hours working on it.**

 **So I hope you understand that when you tear apart or insult any part of this story, it feels like you are insulting me by extension. I am certain that this is unintentional, but you have to understand, that's how it feels. I can understand and sympathize with your frustrations, but to some of my new readers especially who are experiencing this story for the first time, I can no longer tolerate your rudeness. I don't care if you meant it in teasing, I am asking you most politely to stop.**

 **If you don't like the way I've chosen to write something, that is of course your prerogative. You are entitled to your opinion and you are welcome to share it; but if you are going to do so, please do so with respect and civility. This story is near and dear to the hearts of many** (not just my own) **and your crassness is offensive to not only me, but to a number of my readers.**

 **Also, I feel the need to reiterate that if what you read here inspires work of your own, I am of course very flattered, but please do not steal or borrow anything that you may find in my stories without giving credit where credit is due. One of the many reasons why I originally went on hiatus was because of instances of plagiarism. Now, for my veterans who may be thinking I'm about to do what I did several years ago and delete everything and then disappear – I swear to you, I have no intention of doing that again. I refuse to punish the majority over the actions of the few. But this inexcusable behavior needs to stop.**

 **I am just another human being – I am not special or extraordinary. I just have a passion for writing** (and writing about Dracula, lol) **and I love being able to pour my heart and soul into my work and then to watch as it brings joy to others. If you find yourself disliking my work, that's fine. I'm not offended and I respect your opinion. But please show some level of decency in your criticism, or understand that you are under no obligation to read or review my work and are welcome to leave at any time.**

 **You guys, I love hearing your thoughts on my stories. I love your feedback and your commentary. I love watching you get excited over the littlest things, I love hearing you gush about how much you love something, or how you all unite together in frustration when Aleera or Velkan start blowing holes in our Hera/Dracula ship. I love interacting with you, experiencing the journey right alongside you. It is such a fulfilling and validating thing that so many authors never get the chance to experience, but we fanfic writers do and I am so very grateful for that.**

 **But if this tactlessness and rudeness continues, I will be forced to take action and I don't want to activate bitch mode. You wouldn't like me in bitch mode.**

 **So please, be respectful. Be patient. And if something is bothering you so much that you just can't hold it inside, then communicate your frustrations like a mature adult. That is all I ask.**

 **One final note, and then I will close –**

 **I wrote a lengthy A/N in response to some queries I've had from a couple of my veteran readers about the notable lack of smut in my stories these days** (in comparison to what there used to be anyway) **. The short version of that reply: sex and lemons in general do** _ **not**_ **offend me. I am no prude. However, over the years, I have come to realize and believe whole-heartedly that sex in literature** (and other forms of media) **is so often used as a device to keep the attention of the audience, rather than a powerful tool to display and further explore the development of characters and their relationships with others. I feel like when it is used as a shock-device, the writers are essentially insulting the intelligence of their audience and that just infuriates me.**

 **Also, I have made it a personal goal to just cut out unnecessary and gratuitous smut in general, so if I do include it, it serves a purpose and I have personally striven to make sure that it is tastefully done. If this leaves you "unsatisfied", do us all a favor and seek your thrills somewhere else. I am not here to titillate you. That's not my job and, to own the truth, I get really pissed-off when reviewers ride about on their high-horses, demanding things of us writers who are unpaid to begin with and only do this simply because we enjoy telling stories.**

 **If you don't like what we present, go write your own fan fiction.**

 **Alright then. Rant over. Before I go, I of course would like to reiterate my gratitude to all of you who read and review this story of mine, especially those of you who have remained polite, gracious, and patient. Your support truly does mean the world to me and I can't thank you enough.**

 **Now then, I'm stepping off this soapbox and will leave you to review now, if you so choose to do so. I would definitely appreciate your thoughts on the chapter. Otherwise, I will see you in the next one.**

 **\- T**


	32. Discovery of a Betrayal Most Foul

**Hello friends and sorry for the belated update. Went on vacation last week and have been struggling to play catch-up ever since. FYI - updates for the next few weeks may be a bit sporadic** **.**

* * *

 **XXXII**

 _ **Discovery of a Betrayal Most Foul**_

Hera groggily forced her eyes to open as a thin stream of light broke sleep's spell. It was day, though what time precisely, she couldn't be sure. The young woman sighed dreamily as she continued to lie there, allowing herself to wake up gradually. A thick canopy covered the bed, keeping a majority of the brightness out, but the muted stream that was now creeping through the opening gave her eyes a chance to adjust to the light.

She couldn't remember closing her eyes before going to sleep, let alone closing the canopy drapes around her bed. It was an odd thing, but not nearly as strange as the faint pressure of an arm around her waist? Or what felt like a cool, naked shaft against her thigh?

 _What the hell…?_

Then, like an unforgiving wave, the events of last night came flooding back to Hera's recollection and entire body tensed, her eyes snapping open and going wide as a slumbering and very nude Dracula flooded her view.

She was snuggled close to his chiseled front, his chest still and heart silent as he slept beside her. Long strands of dark hair hung lazily along his neck and a bit over the eyes, thick brows furrowed just slightly as though he were dreaming. Although the vision of him was quite the sight to wake up to, the memory of the intimacy they had shared just hours before left confused knots in the woman's stomach.

She had slept with Count Dracula – and as the acknowledgment passed through her conscious mind, the mere suggestion of his name seemed to alert her to the oddly pleasant soreness between her thighs and she felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment. The things this man had done to her last night… with his fingers, his mouth, _his tongue_.

Hera felt her body's reaction to the memory almost immediately and she mouthed an oath in silence, torn between elation and a debilitating humiliation. First Velkan, now Dracula. Who was next? _Van Helsing?_ Whatever the case, Hera couldn't bear to ponder on it further and she knew that the longer she remained in the Count's arms, the harder it would be to leave.

She needed to get out of here. Away from this place and this man before she made any more mistakes. If the Valerious siblings found out about this, she'd be done for, for sure!

Very carefully, Hera lifted the Count's arm that lay draped over her waist, and she rolled out of his hold, placing his arm back down on the mattress before pausing to study him for a few indulgent moments in the dim light. He looked beautiful when he was asleep. The sheet on her bed barely covered his waist, giving her hungry eyes access to this Adonis who lay peacefully beside her.

The longer she stared, the more she ached, the memory of what he had done to her body sending her skin to crawl wildly, and then her eyes found the thin trail of dark hair below his navel that crawled down to the lower part of his abdomen and then behind the sheet.

It didn't take long until she was fighting the temptation to remove the sheet from his body so _everything_ could be free for her gazing, but instead of giving in and waking him for sure, she stealthily slipped off the bed, making sure none of the sunlight disturbed his slumber.

As soon as she was out, she quickly dressed herself and then retreated from the room as fast and as quietly as she could, ducking into the hall without so much as a peep. When she was at last free from the room, she took a long, slow breath, trying to slow her racing heart.

Even with the door between them, Hera could still feel the Count's presence, aware of the way her body seemed to be calling for his. A small, wanton part of her secretly hoped he would awaken in time to stop her from leaving, maybe pull her back into the room to ravish her once again. But with a violent shake of her head, Hera banished the licentious thoughts from her mind, determined to stay focused and so she began to make her way down the hall, vehemently ignoring the way her skin prickled and groin ached.

The fortress was unnervingly quiet during the day.

It almost made her feel as though she were sneaking about, but with a determination to leave, she banished the notion and made her way down the many steps of the north tower until she reached the grand foyer of Castle Dracula.

When she reached the large, rusted and frozen-over entrance to the fortress, it dawned on her that she couldn't get out. Dracula was the one who had carried her over the massive door, right through the transom and to the other side.

Well, she didn't want to risk wakening the Count, or anyone else for that matter, so she zipped up her hoodie, and began to examine the areas surrounding the impenetrable exit. It took a few sweeps with her eyes, but eventually, she noticed a small, hidden entry off to the side, facing the same direction as the main entrance. Taking her chances, she approached and soon discovered that it indeed led to the front of the castle where the sun was streaming through the clouds – and only a few yards away stood the mirror.

Hera jogged briskly through the snow, struggling to keep warm as the icy wind nipped at her face. How she hoped that Visceria was warmer than it was up here, in the peaks of the mountains. Placing her hand on the frozen glass, Hera was ecstatic to find that she could indeed move through the mirror, and that the other side was warm.

Taking one last look behind her, she held her breath in anticipation and then proceeded to walk through the enchanted glass, feeling the liquid ice envelope her body until she passed beyond the barrier and the frigid chill melted into a comforting warmth.

Upon opening her eyes, Hera was pleased to find herself now standing in the Valerious manor armory, the sun streaming through the windows, and the strangely welcome sound of Velkan and Anna arguing downstairs echoing in the distance.

All thoughts of her encounter with Dracula from the night before vanished from conscious thought as she made her way out of the armory and down the stairs, following the voices to the dining room.

"But what if the Count doesn't keep his word?!" Velkan insisted. "It's been seven months, Anna! You _know_ what he's capable of!"

"Do you have such little faith in Hera, Velkan?" Anna asked.

"I have very little faith in anything anymore," he said solemnly. "Let alone Hera."

Hera stopped in her tracks when she overheard this part of the conversation, the excitement on her face falling a little. Deciding it was better if she didn't make herself known just yet, the young woman moved a little closer to the sealed room, tuning her ears to the otherwise private conversation.

"I can't believe you – using her like you did. And she actually trusted you! At least if the Count had tried to use her, she'd know what he was up to. But she _trusted_ you! Can you imagine what would happen if she found out?" Anna shot and Hera listened as the princess walked across the room, her thick heels clicking on the floor.

"You think I haven't thought of that already?" Velkan snapped. "I'll admit, when I first started out, yes, I was using her. And eventually, I dared to believe that maybe my motives had changed. I even convinced myself at one point that I had grown to love her, but she is so trusting and naïve, Anna. The fact of the matter is, Hera is weak of will. She won't be able to withstand the Count! Not even _you_ were able to!"

"I was only sixteen years old! Don't you _dare_ blame that on me," Anna growled. "Do you think I wanted that? To be despised and disrespected by my own family because I wasn't _strong enough_? Isn't that what father said? Dracula took my mind and will from me and you _know_ that to be the truth! Hera may be trusting, but her will is strong and you know how she is! She is neither for nor against either of us. I sincerely doubt Count Dracula would be able to convince her to join his side, even if he did get under her skin. Hera is our friend, Velkan. She will not betray us."

The gypsy prince fell silent for a long minute and Hera's ears strained to hear the muted noises coming from within.

"Did you ever love her, brother?" Anna eventually asked in a much calmer tone. "Was any of it real? Or were you lying when you bedded her, too?"

From what Hera could tell, Velkan had slammed his fist onto the table in reply, a warning for his sister not to push it.

"Everything I have done has been for this family and nothing more," he shot. "I have never loved Hera Garret. How could any man love a woman so fickle and uncommitted in her convictions? Yes, I'll admit it, I used her. I did everything I could to make sure she stayed allied with our family because having her with us was safer than having her in the clutches of the enemy. But because of my foolish error, I have no doubt she is neutral once more, and that's _if_ we are lucky, because with the Count's influence, she'll be even harder to persuade."

Hera felt an invisible blade twist in her gut as she swallowed hard.

Dracula had been right all along. Velkan _had_ used her from the beginning. But it couldn't be! He had been so sincere and she had been so certain of his affection, that his feelings had truly developed into something more profound than mere admiration or attraction. Had she imagined all of that? Had she been so desperate for the comfort of security and familiarity that she had missed all the warning signs?

But he had made love to her. She had let him. She had risked Dracula's wrath and disappointment to be with Velkan – had he truly only used her? No. It couldn't be. He must have been telling Anna this to appease her, maybe to hide his true feelings. But what the prince said next left Hera feeling filthy, violated, and physically ill.

"But if I have to sleep with her again to secure her," he continued with an arrogance that did not suit him, "I'll do it. She's so eager and trusting anyway."

The sound of hard smack broke off his misogynistic speech and Hera assumed Anna had just slapped her brother across the face.

"You are a disgrace to this family," the gypsy princess hissed and then she started to march towards the door.

Unwilling to reveal that she had been eavesdropping, Hera quickly ducked behind the stairs and into the shadows as the door swung open and Anna stormed out, thoroughly livid. As soon as she was out of sight, Hera's eyes fell upon the room the princess had just emerged from and she could see Velkan, rubbing his flushed cheek as he too soon exited from the room, heading into the opposite direction of the manor.

Hera waited a good few minutes before emerging from the shadows, standing in the center of the hall. The silence was deafening to the point where she was certain she could hear the own beating of her heart thumping angrily in her ears.

 _I want to go home,_ the young woman thought pitifully and with the notion came a sharp prickling in her eyes as tears blurred her vision. Before they could tumble down her cheeks, her gaze located the front door of the Valerious manor a few yards away.

The air that surrounded her felt dark and heavy as Velkan's words ran repeatedly in her ears as she recalled the time when Dracula had first warned her of the prince.

 _If Velkan really loved you, do you actually think he would have let you come here alone?_

Hera shook her head once as if to dispel the memory, but Dracula's voice would not leave her, the reality of her situation a soon very real weight on her shoulders as she started to make her way to the front door.

 _Did it ever occur to you that your safety truly means nothing to him? He doesn't love or appreciate you! How can he love someone that makes him feel so inferior… You were just another obstacle in the way of his ego that needed conquering. The means of achieving his own pleasure. He only took you because he wanted to have you first, because as a man he understood that the most effective means of obtaining your loyalty was by weaseling himself into your feeble and easily swayed heart._

Hera rushed out into the autumn sunshine before her tears were able to fall. A heavy breeze blew the door shut behind her as the sound of Anna calling out, asking who was at the door, fell on deaf ears. Hera could hear nothing but the beating of her own heart and the sound of the Count's voice in her head.

Desperate to be free of the pain that was starting to press down on her chest, she took off at a run, racing into the village and through the bustling streets, ignoring the people she passed as she bolted, unable to do anything else.

And still the pain followed close behind her, the Count's words of warning just the night before coming to the forefront of her mind.

It felt so good to be outside after over half a year of being indoors, and though Hera had never been much of a runner before, the pounding of her feet against the dirt path and the racing of her shattering heart behind her ribs felt strangely cathartic. But the physical exertion could not keep the feelings of violation and disappointment from ravaging her brain like ravenous wolves.

Her feet fell hard, Visceria and then the wild, untamed forests of the Carpathians whizzing past her, everything becoming a blur the harder she ran. Tears blurred her vision, her pace increasing, sobs starting to force their way up into her throat.

Velkan's traitorous words tore her insides to pieces and the Count's warnings infected them.

 _You are so naïve,_ the vampire had told her. _You're too vulnerable. Despite your intelligence and your wit, you are the most gullible woman I have ever met!_

The Count's declarations stung as she recalled Velkan's kisses, the way the prince had held her, the way he had said those three powerful words, how he had whispered them in her ears when he had had sex with her—it had been mindless, unfeeling, a terrible deceit.

And she had fallen for it.

Like the fool she was, Hera had missed all of the warning signs once again and had allowed herself to be used.

Unable to run any further, she collapsed on the ground somewhere in the forest as a terrible sob nearly suffocated her. Her entire world was spinning and threatening to disintegrate as the vampire's words cut to the quick while she cried, comprehending for the first time how alone she truly was in all of this.

 _From the very beginning, when I could have easily killed you, despite the fact that you knew this, you were still willing to trust me when our paths crossed again. To make matters even worse, you were all too willing and eager to put your faith in the Valerious family! Too willing to believe anyone even though every single person on either side of the board has been deceiving you, using you, taking advantage of you. I just don't see how it's possible. Are you really that easy?_

… _Don't let them use you. If you want to avoid being hurt, question everything and everyone. Don't let anyone take advantage of you, especially the Valerious family. They will only hurt you. Velkan and Anna will only hurt you. I'll only hurt you. I will use you, I will take advantage of you, and don't think I won't. They are no different from me where our feud is concerned and both of us view you in the same light. If you want to walk out of this war unscathed, you must remain indifferent. Don't let yourself be vulnerable… don't open yourself up to anyone…._

Amidst the lush trees of the forest, Hera lay for some undetermined amount of time as what felt like a lifetime of anger and hurt purged itself from her trembling body. Never had she experienced pain so deep. But it wasn't the lies that hurt most, it was knowing that all of this could have been prevented.

In the end, Dracula was right.

It was her fault.

She was too trusting, too weak, and too vulnerable.

She had allowed herself to be used time and time again. Hera's terrible track record of relationships were her own fault, and in that moment, she had no one to blame but herself. She had been used by Velkan, manipulated by Dracula, and that realization made the tears flow faster, the sobs even harder, and as she lay there, the sun shining through the autumn trees on that beautiful day, her heart began to transform as she allowed herself, for the first time ever, to callous over.

She needed to change—and the change would start right now.

* * *

It would be several hours later before Hera decided to finally head back to the Valerious Manor. She knew exactly how she would treat Velkan—with indifference. As though nothing had ever happened between them. Not enough coldness perhaps to make him suspicious that she had overheard his confession. No, she'd confront him if and when he confronted her about the Count.

But she no longer regretted her actions when it came to Dracula. At least _he_ had the decency to be open and upfront with her regarding his intentions. She had assumed from the beginning that last night hadn't meant a thing to the vampire, that his seduction had been just that – a seduction, a release of sexual tension, the product of lust and nothing more.

Although still a tad regretful of her moment of indulgence with the Count, the rationalizations made it easier for her to ignore her complicated and unresolved feelings for Dracula.

She arrived at the Valerious manor in the late in the afternoon, and going well over twelve hours without some kind of food was starting to do a number on her. What she needed was some good wine, a hot meal, a comfortable chair by a fire, and a decent book to distract herself with.

She knocked on the front door with confidence, and it was only a matter of seconds before Anna appeared, throwing her arms around Hera.

"Thank God, you're alive!" the princess exclaimed.

Although taken aback by the enthusiastic welcome, Hera was soon greeting her back, particularly when she remembered the nice slap she had bestowed on Velkan earlier that morning.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you, Anna," Hera said, releasing the woman from her embrace. "Seven months, I can hardly believe it's been that long!"

Anna laughed.

"Long for you, I'm sure! Living with Dracula and his brides for such a time. I'd surely go mad!"

Hera chuckled as Anna led her inside.

"You have no idea, Anna," she teased. "You really don't."

"So, how is my family's greatest enemy, anyway?" Anna asked good-humoredly as she led Hera into the kitchen through the dining room. "It looks like they hardly fed you. What'd he do? Keep you locked up in a dungeon?"

"No, quite the contrary," Hera mused. "Why? Do I look malnourished to you?"

"No, just notably slimmer, that's all," and she handed Hera a full glass of wine as she threw together some food.

"Well, I'll say one thing, Castle Dracula is enormous," Hera explained, "and I only stayed in one of the towers. But I swear, it could have easily been three fortresses melded into one. I've never climbed so many stairs in my life!"

Anna took a seat beside Hera and listened attentively as the woman ate.

"So, how bad was it?"

"Not as bad as I thought it would be. There was a lot to explore, although I won't lie – I missed our walks."

"How'd you survive being cooped up in doors for so long?"

"I really couldn't tell you," Hera confessed. "Count Dracula is the most bewildering man I've ever met," and Anna laughed.

"I don't doubt that," she chuckled. "How were his brides?"

"Nothing but trouble, especially Aleera," she said between mouthfuls of food. "They were rather pleasant at first, but towards the end, we were all kind of ready to get away from each other."

"Those three, I swear."

"They weren't much trouble for you while I was away, where they?"

"No, actually we never saw them," Anna replied. "It's been rather quiet and uneventful while you've been away."

Hera let out somewhat of a snicker.

"I'm sure," she stated, clearly unconvinced.

Before Anna could inquire on Hera's comment, the two women were interrupted by Velkan.

"Well, well, well, look who's finally back?" came his playful remark.

Anna offered what smile she could muster in an effort to hide her present revulsion with her brother, but Hera was not blind, though she played her part beautifully, offering him a sweet and affectionate grin.

"Hello, Velkan," she said. "It is _very_ good to see you."

"When did you get back?"

"Just a few minutes ago. I was telling Anna about my stay with the Count."

"I see."

Anna, unable to stand the pleasantries after her morning with her brother, immediately exited from the room without so much as excusing herself. Hera knew why, but she remained unmoved by it, still keeping her eye contact with the gypsy prince whose cover was faulting.

"How have you been while I was away?" she asked, returning to her food. "You were probably ecstatic that I was gone, considering the fact that it was you who agreed to the Count's terms all those months ago."

Hera suddenly felt his arms wrap around her from behind and she almost leaned into him. She had forgotten how warm and convincing his embrace could be, and when he nuzzled his face into her neck, she nearly considered forgiving him for how he had treated her. But it was the faint kiss he placed on her neck and the husked, "I missed you," that reminded her it was all a lie.

It broke her heart all over again to think he had been using her, that nothing he had ever said or done was real or true.

"I missed you, too," she lied, her voice soft as her emotions started to get the better of her. He had noticed the slight break in her voice and he held her tighter, resting his head on her shoulder, noticing the tears burning in her eyes. He automatically assumed it was because she truly had missed him, but oh how deceived he was.

He had broken her heart.

All she had to do now was tell Dracula, and she could have her revenge on the gypsy prince.

How easy it would be to march up to Castle Frankenstein and tell the vampire everything. But she was unaware of the Count and Velkan's original deal, and even if she did know, she wanted to confront Velkan about all of his lies first.

Before she could muster the courage to do so, however, the prince took her hand and began to lead her outside.

"Come with me."

* * *

Hera would patiently endure Velkan's attentions for the next week. She'd play along with his lies, never really giving him what he wanted, always remaining passive, noncommittal – the ultimate tease. He could tell she was hiding something, but what, he could never be certain. It wasn't until one particular evening that he confronted her about it.

They were up in the archives late one night. Hera had been up there through most of the day doing some random research on Valerious the Elder and Dracula when Velkan had come up to join her or rather—distract her.

Now they were sitting in the same chair together by the fire, Velkan planting soft, seducing kisses on her mouth. Hera didn't give him much of what he wanted. She kissed him back, but just a little, straining to keep herself from lashing out at him for insisting on this repulsive charade.

It was when his hands and lips started to get a little too friendly for her liking that she found she had had enough.

"No," Hera said, gently pushing him away from her so she could get out of the seat. "I'm not falling for that again."

"Falling for what again?" he asked, the appearance of genuine confusion in his eyes.

"Just… never mind," she insisted, trying to brush him off, but this hadn't been the first time since her return that Hera had pushed him away. "I can't keep doing this," was all the explanation Hera would give and in the last few days, the gypsy prince had forced himself to accept the assertion, but it had become harder and harder as his own personal insecurities quietly preyed on him.

"Have I done something to offend you? Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Why would anything be wrong?" she shot rather abruptly, raking her fingers through her hair in an agitated manner as she paced by the fire.

"Hera, I know you're keeping something from me. Don't keep me out…"

She had to laugh to keep herself from bursting into tears. So he wasn't going to ease himself into it then? Fine. Two could play that game.

"Oh? So _I'm_ the only one with all the secrets now?" she asked incredulously.

He held up his hands in defense.

"Whoa, where is this coming from?"

"How far were you willing to take it, Velkan?!" she lashed out at him, all plans that involved reason and staying calm shattering to pieces as she allowed her internal turmoil to hijack her brain. "Until you fucked me again? Until you got me pregnant? Until you had defeated Dracula and had no more use for me?!"

"Hera, what on earth are you talking about?"

"What? Are you suffering from amnesia, _your highness,_ or are you truly so astonished that this weak and pitiful woman was able to find out the truth? Or worse, that she heard the truth coming from your own mouth?"

Velkan finally realized what she was referring to and his expression became grave.

"Hera, whatever you heard me saying to Anna wasn't…"

"What? It wasn't true?" she shot. "Bloody hell, Velkan! Why? WHY! What did I _ever_ do to you? When did I ever give you a reason to treat me like that? At least when Dracula had the nerve to use me, he wasn't trying to lie about it!"

"Dracula? What does _he_ have to do with any of this?" the prince asked, going from shock and guilt to suspicion.

"Oh, he just _warned_ me about you. You know, it was him who first made me suspect, but I refused to let myself believe it. I couldn't believe it. No, not _you_. You were too honorable. You _loved_ me! God, I was so stupid for not seeing sooner that you're nothing but a coward and a brute! Your family has done nothing but use me from the very beginning. But you Velkan… you were the one who sank the lowest, and for that I can _never_ forgive you. You deserved that slap across the face that Anna gave you. And you deserve so much more."

"Hera, it's not what you think," he insisted. "If you'll just listen!" and he went to grab her arm as she had turned to leave the room, but all she did was whirl on him, her hand colliding with the side of his face.

"Don't you _ever_ touch me again!" she shouted. "I am done with your lies, Velkan! Do you hear me?!" and she started to cry. "You didn't have to try and make me fall in love with you to secure me. I just wanted a friend, someone I could trust and I trusted _you_ , Velkan… but not anymore," and she made a point to struggle against his hold.

"Hera, just let me explain…"

"Let me go!"

"I'm not letting you go without hearing the truth!"

When she went to hit him again, he grabbed both of her arms and held her tightly.

"I'm sick of your version of the truth!" the woman began, but was interrupted.

"Well you're going to hear it anyway!" he barked, slamming her against the wall. "Yes, I'll admit it, I had planned on convincing you to join my family's side in this war from the beginning. But everything was _real_ , Hera! I swear to God it was! Can you imagine what would happen if my family found out?! If my people found out that I was in love with you when I am betrothed to another? I could not risk my family's name and honor! I _had_ to tell Anna lies! She couldn't know!"

"Why should I believe you!" she seethed, angry tears streaming down her face, her cheeks flushed and hot. "You lied to me, Velkan! I trusted you! I TRUSTED YOU!" and she tried to wriggle out of his hold, but he only held her tighter.

"I know you did, and I'm sorry!" he insisted. "Please believe me, Hera!"

"NO!" and she tore her arms out of his hold and tried to reach the door, but he quickly grabbed her again to pull her back, the force of his yank combined with her resistance sending both of them to the floor.

Velkan went to keep her down when he noticed something he had not before – It was near the back of her neck, a place where her hair or a scarf could easily hide it.

"No," the prince whispered as he stared at the scarred bite in absolute horror. "He's marked you." Hera tried to pull away from the prince, but he was already pulling her sleeve down, forcefully twisting her head so he could see, just to make sure his eyes weren't failing him. "He bit you," he breathed in disbelief.

"Yes, he did," Hera answered without ceremony.

"You let him?!"

"Does it matter?"

"Did you sleep with him?" Velkan demanded in a very serious tone now. "Were you sleeping with him when he bit you?"

His query was filled with desperation as he internally prayed that things were not as dreadful as they seemed. But her expression said everything as all hopes of having Hera as an ally, of winning this war against Dracula – it all abruptly vanished into thin air.

"Yes."

Velkan released her for just a moment so he could pick up a nearby chair and throw it across the room as he shouted.

"HOW COULD YOU?" and he slammed his fist into the wall by her face but she never even flinched. "How could you betray us like this? Me? Anna? My father? Now you'll become one of them! Don't you understand? He's marked you as his, Hera. Is that really what you want?! To be just another possession of that vicious, monstrous demon from hell?"

Fresh tears streamed down flushed cheeks as the young woman struggled to maintain a degree of composure. Despite her anger toward the gypsy prince, she could not ignore her own sense of disgust and disappointment with herself. She was better than this. She had been raised to be strong and careful and always in control – but ever since she had arrived in this foreign place and time, everything seemed so out of her control.

She felt like a dried leaf, victim to the whims of the wind, doomed to travel wherever it chose, giving her no real say in the matter. It made her feel weak, hopeless…

Hera had known better from the beginning that entangling herself with Dracula would be foolish, just as foolish as becoming emotionally involved with the Valerious family. This wasn't the life she had once been so accustomed to – this was a war, a violent battle between two very different sides, a conflict where only the demise of the other side would bring about its end.

In her idealism, she had hoped to be able to influence the Valerious and the vampires to somehow coexist but that had been a fantasy. She realized that now. The hatred between them ran too deep and though Hera had never been one to pick sides, in that moment the choice seemed so obvious.

Velkan had used her in a way that was – in her mind – unforgivable. He had deceived her in a way that had been malicious and inexcusable. Both sides of the board were so deeply flawed, both options before her less than ideal. But it was a matter of the lesser of two evils and in that instant, with Prince Velkan Valerious' judging gaze and silent condemnation, Count Dracula was surprisingly the lesser evil.

"Why do you even care?" Hera asked the gypsy prince in a deadly whisper. "Are you upset because your enemy, your _competition_ got to me too? Say it, Velkan, I know you want to. Call me a _whore_ to my face. I DARE YOU!"

Her challenge pushed him over the edge and in a moment of madness, he struck her.

It was an open handed slap across the face meant to silence a borderline hysterical woman, but Hera was not neurotic and in need of being hushed – she was hurt, and the assault on her person was the last straw. She glared daggers at the prince as the hue in her cheek deepened into a dark pink.

"You never loved me," she hissed at him. "You lied to me from the very beginning and I hate you for it, Velkan. _I hate you!_ " and with a turn of her heel, she started to make her way toward the exit, but he made an attempt to stop her.

"I'm not going to let you run to him, Hera!" he insisted. "I don't care if you loath me, but I will not let you run into the arms of that demon!"

But Hera had different plans as her fist came flying towards his face, meeting the prince's nose with a sickening crunch and he fell flat on his back. With his head now spinning, Velkan watched helplessly as the woman reached for the door.

"Hera, don't do this!" he called out, reaching for her foot and she came crashing to the floor as he tripped her. "Please, I'm begging you! I know you're angry, but you must believe me. I never lied! I love you too much! Please! I can't lose you to him, I cannot!"

The prince's pleas fell on deaf ears, however.

The woman was heartbroken and incensed, and a nice kick to his genitals drove that point home and he let her go. He watched helplessly as she slammed the door behind her, locking it from the outside so he couldn't get out, leaving him to listen as she raced down the stairs.

Hera made a quick stop to her room where she grabbed a thick coat and what few things she could carry before rushing toward the entrance of the manor before the entire house could wake up from the commotion. She made it out the front door just as Anna's light came on in her room and Hera was at a run.

The young woman sprinted through the dark and slumbering Visceria as fast as her feet could carry her.

The air was bitterly cold as winter began to wrap its merciless fingers around autumn's throat, threatening to choke it while the torrential downpour beat down on the slumbering valley. But the elements didn't faze Hera as she left the village behind her, soon lost in the darkness of the forest, hardly knowing where she was going.

All she could do was run.

She had crossed a bridge that led over the river, so she assumed if she kept on this lane, it would lead her up the mountainside toward Castle Frankenstein. At least there she'd be safe and warm, or warmer than she was right now.

She continued onward at a steady pace through the winding forest path, the tears that had been burning in her eyes having gone dry as an uncharacteristic anger consumed her every step.


	33. Changing Sides

**Forgive any errors I may have overlooked** (because I'm still not wholly satisfied with this chapter but I'm tired of holding it hostage) **and enjoy. Would appreciate any and all comments, feedback, suggestions, etc. when you finish reading.**

 **Hoping to have the next chapter up by Friday; worst-case-scenario: next week on Monday. Currently struggling to keep afloat right now life-wise and sadly editing this story and making chapters update-ready has taken a back-seat as I try to get things in order. Being an independent adult is overrated.**

 **A tremendous thank you to** the invisible reader **,** alexc1209 **,** 12345678910 **,** Bloodsired **,** Scarlet Empress **,** She-Devil Red **,** Madam Silver **,** RegencyPoet **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** Nyx-Arae **,** Forbidden Moons **,** ShadowSpade **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** novo-o-caine **, and** AnimeFan001 **for reviewing chapter 32. Your feedback was the highlight of my week.**

 **Noticed some minor commentary on the serious lack of the Count in the last chapter. Fortunately for you, this installment has more Dracula in it. You're welcome. ;)**

* * *

 **XXXIII**

 _ **Changing Sides**_

Anna pulled on her jacket over her nightgown as she walked around the house with a candlestick, following the sounds of what appeared to be her brother shouting up in the family archives. Worried that he could be in trouble, she quickened her pace as she traveled through the house and up the stairs to the tower. What she found was the archive door locked from the outside and Velkan trapped on the other side, shouting from within.

"Velkan, what's going on?"

Upon opening the door, he immediately pushed past her, leaving her clutching at the wall to keep from falling down the stairs.

"Hurry and put on some clothes, Anna! We have to find her!"

"Find who?" she asked, following after him. "Velkan, what's going on? Where's Hera?"

The prince ran into the mentioned woman's room, calling her name like a madman as he then proceeded to race throughout the entire manor, unwittingly waking up everyone up.

"She's gone," he panicked, racing to his room to grab his coat. "Anna, meet me in the stables, quickly! We have to find her before he does!"

"Who? Velkan, what's going on?! Why do we have to look for Hera? It's nearly one in the morning for Christ's sake!"

"I…" but he paused, suddenly unsure. "Anna, I've made a horrible mistake," he said softly and he placed his hands on his sister's shoulders. "And I must beg your forgiveness for the trouble I've undoubtedly caused. Anna, Hera overheard our argument last week."

The princess' eyes widened in surprise.

"She did?"

"And what's worse, he's bitten her, Anna. Dracula marked Hera before she returned home."

Anna could hardly believe what she was hearing.

"He did _what_?"

"She got angry with me for what I had told you. And when I discovered that the Count had marked her… I… I struck her."

"Velkan, you _imbecile_!" Anna shouted, smacking his arm for good measure. "Where is she now?"

"Evidently, she's left the house. And knowing how fast she can run, I'd say she's easily out of the village by now. We need to find her before Dracula does."

"But Dracula wouldn't harm her."

"The Count harming her is _not_ what I'm afraid of…"

"Do you still doubt her allegiances?"

"I'm doubting everything at this point. If Dracula gets his hands on Hera, Anna, things are going to get so much worse for this family. We need to move fast."

"Velkan, what have you done?"

"Sister, I am begging you – no questions now. I need you to trust me. We have to find Hera before it's too late."

"Yes, of course… I'll be down in the stables in five minutes," Anna told him, and she rushed off to her room. Velkan swallowed hard as he threw on his coat and raced out into the frigid night air, silently offering a futile prayer to a God he was certain would not hear him.

If Dracula discovered that he had broken Hera's heart, all hell would break loose.

* * *

The rain turned the dirt into thick, gloppy mud as Hera trudged up the steep hill through the forest towards Castle Frankenstein. It had been a good forty minutes or so since she had left the Valerious manor and, undoubtedly, Velkan and Anna were on the hunt for her by now. If she could just hide within the castle, she'd be safe.

She just hoped Dracula wasn't there tonight. The last thing Hera wanted was one of his "I told you so" speeches.

At last, the young woman reached the castle and was pleased to discover that it looked deserted this evening. Her legs felt like Jell-O as she sprinted into the main courtyard, turning round the bend to the entrance where she pushed the large doors open before slamming them shut, searching frantically for somewhere to hide.

She could hear the faint sound of Velkan calling for her, and from the accompanying neigh of his steed, it was clear he was on horseback—no wonder he had caught up with her so quickly.

Hera raced up the stairs and headed for the one place she knew he wouldn't be able to find her: the laboratory.

She quickly dashed down a certain hall, throwing open the library doors just to temporarily throw him off her trail before continuing towards the eastern tower. She flung open the laboratory doors at the end of the hall and had to stop momentarily in complete awe at how mysterious the laboratory looked, especially when lightning cracked in the sky, illuminating the otherwise darkened room.

But her moment of awe was short-lived when she heard the front doors of the castle open as Velkan screamed her name into the otherwise deathly still air.

"HERA!"

Hera quickly took in her surroundings, trying to find the most perfect place to hide. And find it she did. On the far end of the room were the enormous windows that overlooked the front of the castle and the woods beyond. In between her and that window was a labyrinth of machinery, which included the large dynamos and other electrical equipment, rafters decorating the room like ivy would a wall.

She ran up the stairs, taking a leap for a little cubby in the shadows, allowing her a full-sized view of the room, but permitting no one else to see her.

It didn't take long before Velkan came storming in, shouting her name.

"HERA! Hera, where are you?"

The woman remained silent and still as a statue as the prince tore through the laboratory, pushing crates around, searching frantically for her.

"Hera, please, I know you're in here!" he called, running up one of the stairs and onto a rafter, seeing if the bird's eye view would help. His voice started to grow a twinge pathetic. "Hera, don't… don't do this… please… please come out…"

Also hidden in the shadows was another individual, one whom had been in here long before Hera had even arrived. It was the Count, and he stood frozen in place, even when the mortal woman had bolted into the room. He had bent his will against both humans so neither would see him and had watched Hera hurry frantically up to the castle and into the laboratory, taking to her rather ingenious little hiding place.

The prince would never find her there unless he stood on the rafter beside her and stared into the shadows long enough for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was curious to the vampire, though, why Velkan was so eager to find her, why he sounded so frantic.

Oh, but he suspected, and his smile twisted into a devilish grin.

The tears in Hera's eyes when she had run into the room to hide told him all he needed to know.

Velkan had broken her heart.

She knew the truth now.

Well, a truth that _he_ had helped to nurture.

And from the bruising and dried blood around the gypsy prince's nose, as well as the awkwardness of his walk, it was clear that the woman hadn't been too thrilled with the news.

But Dracula couldn't be happier by it. Everything was going according to plan.

Yes, it had been he who had strategically helped in driving the two lovers apart. He who had discovered the seeds of doubt and insecurity in both only to nurture them; he who had met with Velkan in secret some time ago, instilling the idea into the prince's head that his relationship with Hera was dishonorable to his family's name and that he should lie to Anna about it; it had been he who had caused Hera to doubt Velkan's affections so that when she did indeed hear any such confession that the prince didn't love her, she'd be more than willing to believe it.

Yes, Dracula had done it all—the ingenious manipulations of a villainous mastermind, determined to achieve his ends by _any_ possible method.

Of course, succumbing to his growing attachment to Hera and bedding her the other evening hadn't been part of the plan, and this growing obsession of his when it came to the woman secretly terrified him. Yet, as the vampire watched the Valerious heir tear through the room, frantically searching for the female in question, Dracula couldn't help but smile, deeply amused by the spectacle before him.

"Hera! Please! Come out…" the prince pleaded, his voice beginning to break as he fell to his knees in despair on one of the rafters, unwittingly right next to Hera's hiding spot. "Don't do this… you have no idea what he'll do if he finds out."

 _It's nothing more than what you deserve_ , Hera thought irritably, not knowing what Velkan was truly talking about, but she was too pissed off to care.

Dracula had to refrain from chuckling when he caught wind of her thought.

Oh, this whole thing was just _priceless_.

Feeling unusually mischievous, the Count decided to liven things up a bit by making his presence known.

"She's not here, your grace," he called out.

Velkan and Hera both turned in the direction of the vampire, taken aback by his attendance and just how close he actually was.

"Where is she? What have you done with her, you _monster_!" Velkan shouted angrily, pushing himself to his feet.

"I've done nothing with her, little prince," Dracula answered calmly. "There's no need to shout."

"Where is she?" Velkan seethed.

The Count just smiled, vanishing from his spot on the floor and reappearing on the rafters with Velkan, advancing toward him, one step at a time.

"Whom are you referring to?" he teased, feigning ignorance just so the prince would become more incensed. It worked marvelously.

"I know you're not stupid, Dracula! I'm talking about Hera! Where is Hera?!"

"I haven't seen her since last week when she left my home," the Count drawled, his hands casually behind his back as he continued to advance towards the gypsy prince. "And rather abruptly too," he added thoughtfully. "She didn't even say goodbye. A great pity, really… I had been hoping for a repeated dalliance before her departure." He sent the prince a sinister smile. "But don't tell me you've lost track of her already," he then mused, unclipping his cloak with grace and draping it over the railing as he continued to advance.

"This isn't funny, Count," Velkan insisted. "She could be lost! In danger! I have to find her!"

"Before _I_ do, you mean," he answered knowingly. Velkan stopped in his tracks and stared at the Count as the vampire's grin melted into a very humorless expression. "Why would you be so concerned with whether or not I find her first? You know quite well that I mean the lady no harm, so why fret?" he asked, removing his kid gloves with a sharp tug and dropping them along his path. "What have you done to her, Velkan, to make her run from you?"

"I…I've done nothing," the prince lied.

But the vampire knew better and he tsked playfully.

"I'm sure you didn't. Because you know what that would mean, if I should run into her before you can make your amends, and she tells me the truth," and he stopped and briefly turned away from Velkan.

He was standing directly in front of Hera's hiding place and was now staring at her through the darkness. She begged him with her eyes not to reveal where she was and the unreadable expression on his face made her heart race in apprehension. The woman returned her attention back to Velkan and suddenly noticed how the prince had swallowed hard at the Count's comment and curiosity got the better of her.

There was some kind of understanding between these two… something she couldn't quite grasp.

"Do you know where she is?" Velkan asked, not liking the idea of asking for the Count's help. Dracula diverted his gaze from Hera, crouched and hidden in the shadows, and he glanced over at the prince.

"Hmm? Oh. No, I do not know where she is," he lied, moving away from the mortal prince and picking up his gloves and cloak as he made his way down the rafter steps toward the lower level again. "But she's not here, Velkan. I only hear one rapidly beating heart, and that is yours."

The gypsy prince regained his composure, descending back to the ground level as well, Hera's eyes watching him closely as he stalked toward the door.

"I know what you did to her," Velkan called out as the Count prepared to leave the laboratory.

The accusation caused the vampire to stop mid-step and he turned slowly, raising his eyebrows, amused.

"Oh? What did I do to the lovely Miss Garret?" he asked with noted smugness.

"You marked her," Velkan answered resentfully. "You beguiled her."

Dracula snorted back a laugh, entertained by the prince's naivety.

"I _beguiled_ her? Come now, Velkan, you make it sound like she didn't want it. Do you honestly believe I would sink so low as to ravish a woman without her consent?"

"No creature in their right frame of mind would ever consent to fornicate with a demon like you," he insisted.

"Quite the contrary, I assure you. I fear, little prince, that there is much more to Miss Garret than what initially meets the eye. Clearly, if you had taken the time to get to know her, you would have realized that. But that's right, you preferred to use and take what you wanted from Miss Garret from the beginning without a single care for her feelings or well-being. I have at least had the decency to be truthful in my pursual of her, unlike some. I think the only person lower than myself is _you_."

Velkan stepped forward abruptly, head hot and common sense abandoned. He unsheathed his sword with a shout of evident frustration before ramming the blade into the Count's stomach. Dracula was indifferent to the blow. In fact, he looked down at the sword with so much apathy, it was as if Velkan's act of senseless violence bored him more than anything else.

The vampire sighed dramatically.

"That is just like a Valerious… to act so irrationally."

Before Hera could even blink, Dracula had torn the blade out of his stomach and had pinned Velkan to a wall. The prince held the Count's hard gaze, even as the tip of his own sword was pointed at his chest, the vampire's hand holding his throat.

"Go on," Velkan taunted. "Do it! You've been wanting to kill me since the day I was born! Stop stalling, Count, and finish this!"

Dracula's grip around the man's neck tightened and he inched forward as if to shove the blade directly into the man's heart, but something stopped him.

Perhaps it was the realization that Hera was watching his every move – or maybe it was something else entirely, but whatever the case, Dracula resisted the temptation to ruthlessly take the life of his enemy, though it would have been as easy as snapping the prince's neck with a flick of his wrist.

"Oh no," the vampire said with deliberation, "I have a far better use for you, and unfortunately, little prince, it requires you to be _alive_ ," and he tossed the sword aside. "Poor Velkan Valerious. You've lost the battle and are now on the verge of losing the entire war… and all because you misused the wrong woman. What would your dear papa say?"

Velkan snarled and tried to strike the Count, but Dracula shoved him against the wall, still holding the man's neck in his hand.

"You do realize that you will never win, don't you? Your family will never claim victory over me with or without Miss Garret. I don't need her to defeat you! I could do it in a single night, with my _bare_ … _hands_ ," and he squeezed harder on the prince's throat, choking him.

The Count held Velkan there for just a few moments longer before finally releasing him, watching in satisfaction as the mortal came tumbling down to the floor at his feet, unwittingly symbolic of what would soon come to pass.

"But I find it sportier if I let you live… to watch you fight," Dracula explained. "It is so much more satisfying that way, because then I can break you before I end you."

Hera watched in awed fascination as Velkan was swallowed in the vampire's shadow, the Count a menacing figure of authority, power, and confidence—just like she imagined him to be when he had been alive.

"Now pick up your pathetic little blade and crawl back home to your sister," Dracula hissed, moving the weapon with his foot as he continued to tower over the young man. "Tell her all about how you have failed – how you've lost the trust of the only woman that could have ended this war between us, how you've failed the memory of your ancestry – how everything they've sacrificed will soon be for naught. Recall the tales your nurse used to tell you as a child – of what happens when foolish, arrogant little princes insist on disputations with the dragon; only now you get to feel the heat of the fire for yourself, _Valerious_. And I assure you – I shall thoroughly enjoy watching you _burn_."

Count Dracula's promise of retribution hung heavy in the air like the death-sentence it was and like the prince, Hera had momentarily forgotten how to breathe. She sat there, huddled in the darkened corner of Victor Frankenstein's laboratory, her eyes fixed on the vampire as he took one step back, still staring hard in Velkan's direction as though he were contemplating acting out on his threat now rather than later.

But the Valerious heir's shrink of fear and submission appeared to suit him for the present, and with a turn of his heel, the Count's countenance relaxed significantly.

"She's not here, Velkan," he said, repeating his words from earlier as he made his way over to the window at the end of the room. "I'd recommend putting an end to your search for her. If Miss Garret does not desire to be found, I'd respect her wishes, since you respected little else of what was hers," and he then stopped to glance back at the prince.

"Oh, and you may wish to warn your people. It's a full moon tomorrow night. My wolves have been confined for far too long. Come sunset tomorrow, their leashes shall be removed and when they come, they will be coming for you," and with a blinding bolt of lightning and the oncoming darkness, Dracula had vanished into thin air.

Velkan remained silent and still on the floor for only a minute or two in shock before his sense of reason returned and he bolted out of the room. Shortly after his departure, Hera could hear him and his horse racing towards Visceria. When she was certain he was gone, the young woman then proceeded to climb out of her hiding spot and back onto the rafter, very quiet as she progressed over the creaky beams and to the stairs. When she was safe and secure on the ground again, she approached the large window at the end of the room, just in time to catch Velkan disappearing within the forest.

She sighed in relief.

Thank God he wasn't here anymore.

"Alright, what's going on?" a familiar voice said from behind. Hera jumped, startled by the sound of the Count's voice being so close to her and she turned to see him standing a mere two feet away. "Why were you hiding from Velkan?"

"I thought you knew everything?" she teased, folding her arms under her chest.

He just rolled his eyes and began to move towards Frankenstein's slightly charred desk, rummaging through what Hera automatically assumed were the late Doctor's notes.

"If I knew everything, I would not have been here this evening," he commented. "But reading minds always helps," he added, flashing her a wry grin.

"Thank you for not blowing my cover."

"I wouldn't thank me so soon, Miss Garret," was his response as he thumbed through various papers as if looking for something. "Like Velkan, I want you for similar reasons – well, in a general sense. Handing you over to him would be like handing the opponent your queen in a chess game. A very unintelligent move on any player's part."

"That's right, you're using me too," she recalled.

"Oh come now. Do we have to use such a degrading term?" he said. "Why can't we refer to it as me taking advantage of the opportunities laid before me?"

"We could always call it _exploitation_. Or, since we're referring to you, how does _manipulation_ sound?"

"That's rather ungenerous," and he sent her a disapproving look, but she never responded to it. Hera pulled her jacket tightly around her body and began to head towards the door, solemnity in her eyes as she made her way out into the hallway.

The woman barely noticed as Dwergi began to move about within the castle, where they came from was beyond her, but she was apathetic to their presence. She just continued to walk, heading aimlessly into the library and noticing the book that lay face down on the coffee table in front of the stone cold fireplace. Hera picked it up and read the cover, the sight of it bringing back painful memories.

In a fit of madness, she threw the book into the cold fireplace and then with a heavy heart, she stepped out onto the terrace, contenting herself to sit out in the rain. She was completely oblivious of the Count standing in the doorway of the library, his gaze fixed on her, expression full of uncharacteristic pity.

He understood her hurt. He understood it tenfold.

And he didn't know why, but it pained him to see her like this.

"Master?" Igor called, interrupting the Count's thoughts.

"Yes? What is it?"

"The wolves have been unleashed master. They shall reach the valley by tomorrow night."

The Count continued to observe Hera from a distance.

"Good."

"What would you like us to do with Boris Valerious' body?"

"Leave it. I want his son to see it."

"Master?"

Dracula finally turned his attention toward Igor.

"By the end of the week, Velkan will be within my power," he stated simply. "The next experiment will be on him. My children lived with Boris, but only for a few moments. My brides continue to grieve because of your oversight, Igor."

"My apologies, master."

"I'm hoping that with werewolf venom running through the prince's veins, he will be of greater benefit than his father."

"So the wolves are going after Prince Velkan, then?"

Dracula nodded.

"Continue to prepare the laboratory. I want everything in working order by the end of the week."

"You are too generous, master," and Igor bowed deeply as he backed away.

"Now go. I don't want to see you until the task is complete."

When Igor vanished down the hall, Dracula returned his attention back to Hera, who was still sitting out in the rain, silently crying. With a heavy sigh, he finally entered the room, shutting the doors behind him before making his way over to the intriguing mortal whose broken heart was disturbing him far more than it should have.

He reached into the pocket within his cloak and removed something she had forgotten to take with her when they had last crossed paths.

"In your haste to depart without saying goodbye, you seemed to have left this behind," he commented, standing behind Hera who didn't move to look up at him. She didn't even speak. So, he crouched down beside her and placed something in her hand, earning her gaze. It was her iPod. "It's a remarkable invention, this music player of yours. It took me a good half-hour to figure it out. Some of the music you posses is, I confess, rather distasteful. I'm not sure I will ever understand your generation's obsession with women's posteriors, for instance."

His comment earned him the chuckle he had been aiming for, though her smile was still tear-filled.

"Sorry," was all she could manage to say.

"There's a collection of music in there that I believe you compiled together. It would be wise if you listened to it," he suggested, turning it on for her and scrolling over to the playlist she had entitled _Hope_.

He placed the ear buds almost lovingly into her ears as he turned on the first song, standing shortly thereafter, knowing full well that she needed time to grieve and recover. But before he departed, he whispered,

"Promise me that my favorite spitfire will be back soon."

And then he left her to listen to the collection of songs. Some of the music was wordless and it moved her soul in ways nothing else could, whereas others reduced her to tears as their lyrics pierced her heart.

She'd get through this, she told herself silently as the chilling rain soaked her clothes and her hair – and after two hours of music and rain, Hera emerged – washed clean.


	34. Quality Time with the Count

**You know what I realized this morning?** **We've passed the half-way mark with this story.** **Aww... now I'm kinda sad, though also excited because that means as soon as I finish posting, I can FINALLY start working on** _Eternal Night_ **! At last!**

 **Again, I'm not wholly satisfied with this chapter,** (specifically this opening section but I don't have the heart to cut it out completely) **. Either way, I've agonized over it long enough and I'm ready to move on. Hope you enjoy it all the same. Forgive any glaring errors I may have overlooked.**

 **DISCLAIMER: bit of steaminess near the end. Nothing too scandalous... just stoking the fires of sexual tension. ;)**

* * *

 **XXXIV**

 _ **Quality Time with the Count**_

Hera would never really understand what it was about fire that hypnotized her mortal soul—why she was so helpless to the alluring flames that licked and cracked as the pine in the fireplace burned. She'd never comprehend how something so dangerous could be so enticing, even when knowledge and experience told her that the flames would burn her, should she get too close. Still she moved nearer to the hearth within the library of Castle Frankenstein, letting that heat thaw out the unforgiving cold that had embedded itself into her skin.

It had been nearly two weeks since she had seen Velkan. From what she had heard, the Count's wolves had been ravaging Visceria and the surrounding countryside, but they remained unsuccessful in obtaining the last surviving male of the Valerious line.

Not that the Count was in much of a hurry. He had all the time in the world—not to mention Igor and the Dwergi were _still_ fixing up the laboratory and the Count was _still_ trying to decipher what was left of the late Doctor's notes. Victor had had chicken scratch for handwriting; it was a wonder the vampire could read it at all.

Dracula had invited – or, more appropriately, _insisted_ – that Hera remain a resident in Castle Frankenstein as he worked on the progeny business. This allowed him to keep her out of Velkan's reach, away from his jealous brides, and within his own sights. He spent a good amount of time with her in the evenings, and then he'd return home before the sun would rise.

Hera and Count Dracula soon came to deeply appreciate the company of the other, particularly Hera who fed from his strength in her time of otherwise low spirits, grateful for the distraction he provided her with.

After a good evening of crying her eyes out, she had finally decided to put Velkan Valerious behind her—or at least as much as she could, as the gypsy prince still drifted across the sea of her thoughts every now and again. There were instances when she truly wondered if he had meant what he said the last night he saw her—that everything he had told Anna was a lie so he could protect his family's name and reputation.

But the doubts that ensued always caused her to resentfully push the remnants of her feelings aside and she'd refocus on something else. For two weeks, her days and nights went on like this. She ended up returning to the more nocturnal lifestyle, similar to the one she had had during her seven month stay in Castle Dracula, in part because the Count was her one source of social interaction and he was only around in the evenings.

Tonight found Hera sitting alone by the fireplace, her legs tucked close to her as she leaned against the wall, staring into the flames, her thoughts lost on the Count. She was so confused when it came to her feelings for him. The young woman knew he was ultimately using her, simply because he had warned her of that reality time and time again.

But, as her thoughts often did, she started to reminisce on her last night in Castle Dracula—the night they had slept together. Did he feel something for her after all? Did _she_ even feel something for him? She had admitted some time ago that she had been falling in love with him, as unintentional as it was, but was that even love? Or was it just an infatuation? She didn't know, and not knowing bothered her.

How very similar these flames in the hearth were when compared to the Count and her feelings for him. Like the flames, Dracula was alluring, seductive — enticing. But just as she recognized that fire would harm her, she understood if she let herself feel something more than attraction and fondness when it came to the vampire, she'd wind up getting hurt. She couldn't quite explain how she knew this, but it was a feeling she had in the middle of her gut whenever the thought crossed her mind, and Hera Garret was in no mood to get her heart crushed and her hopes disappointed again.

The young woman grumbled something under her breath as she continued to sit on the floor beside the fireplace, glancing over at the large clock on the wall. It was only ten-thirty. Not even close to midnight, which meant she had another long evening ahead of her. She noticed Voltaire's classic, _Candide,_ on the coffee table a few feet away from her and she made a face.

"No—I've read that at least six times," she muttered to herself as she climbed to her feet and began to wander about the room.

She didn't feel like reading tonight. Maybe Dracula could give her something to do. So with her mind resolute, she exited from the library and into the hall in search of the vampire.

* * *

"Igor!" Dracula called, sounding a bit more exasperated than usual. The revolting little weasel perked up at the sound of his name.

"Yes, master?"

"How much longer before we are ready?" he asked, glancing back down at the charred notes sprawled out on the desk at which he sat.

"It's hard to say, master. We are still missing two dynamos to replace the ones that over-heated during the last experiment. They should be here from Budapest within the next week or so."

"This is inexcusable, Igor," Dracula stated, slamming his hand on the desk and standing up. "You said everything would be up and running _weeks_ ago."

"Igor is trying, master. It will go faster now that we have more Dwergi."

"We are running out of time!" the vampire continued, appearing suddenly in front of the deformed man and getting into his face, Hera's entrance into the room having gone unnoticed. "I want this ready _before_ we obtain Velkan! Do you understand me?!"

Igor cowered in fear and went back to work.

"Yes, master… of course," and he scurried away like some sort of rat.

Hera made a face as he passed before looking over into the direction of the Count who had returned to his seat, his head in his hand as he continued to read over the Doctor's notes.

"Another one of those evenings, then?" she inquired while approaching, now standing in front of the desk, observing the Count with muted interest. "I'm assuming you still haven't found anything of use yet."

He unleashed a throaty laugh, still studying the notes before him.

"If I had, my mood would probably be better."

"I didn't know your mood _could_ be any better."

Dracula glanced up, a single brow arched.

"Somebody has run out of things to do."

"How _very_ perceptive you are," the woman teased.

"Living for over four hundred years does that to people."

"I wouldn't know."

"Yes… you must be so terribly envious of me."

Hera laughed.

"Ha! Me? Jealous of you? Keep dreaming, Count."

"Vampires don't dream, Miss Garret."

"And why is that?" she asked with an over-exaggerated sense of interest as she took a seat in the chair across from him, leaning forward. He inclined back in his seat, deciding to accept the distraction she was offering him.

"Because we live long enough to see those dreams become reality," he stated simply. "Most mortals do not live to see their hopes and wishes come to fruition. Their aspirations often become overshadowed by the mundane tasks of everyday life, and before they know it, those days have vanished and their time runs out. When you live forever, time is no longer an issue."

She thought about it for a moment before responding.

"You're right."

"Right about what?"

"I _am_ jealous of you… but only in that respect!"

"What do you want, Miss Garret?" he smiled, returning to his work.

Hera just sighed dramatically.

"I'm so bored!" she exclaimed while lightly banging her head against the desk, earning a concerned, yet mildly amused look from the vampire seated across from her. "I've perused nearly every book Victor owns and I could easily navigate the entirety of this castle blindfolded. If I don't find something to do soon, I think I'm going to go mad!"

"I'm sorry to hear that," he answered with feigned indifference, feebly suppressing a smirk.

"No you're not," she claimed. "You could care less."

"Apparently you know me better than you tend to let on."

The Count soon pushed the papers away from him, agitated. He rubbed the spot between his eyes in an effort to dispel the nagging pain in his head. What was it about scientists and other academics with their terrible handwriting, he wondered quietly.

"So what exactly are you looking for in those notes, anyway?" Hera asked.

"I'm looking for some way to either reconstruct the creature, or perhaps unveil some unexplored way to create life without him. The Doctor was always so thorough, documenting every experiment, every failure, every lesson learned. But his appalling penmanship aside, it's like he wrote the entire thing in code, as though he was paranoid someone would steal his work."

"Which is kind of silly, really, because you were the only person he could find that would finance his research in the first place, right?" Hera clarified, beginning to examine one of the charred pieces of parchment, handing the notes with care.

"Precisely."

"Good Lord, I see your problem – deciphering Victor's writing is like trying to crack the Da Vinci code." Dracula sent her a look of utter confusion and she just smiled. "Never mind."

The Count watched her for several silent moments as her eyes scanned over the pages with apparent interest.

"Do you want to know how you can make yourself useful?" he said at last.

Hera nodded, placing the notes back onto the desk.

The vampire motioned for her to come to him with a curled finger.

She obeyed, tentatively at first, not sure if she liked the way he was looking at her. But she submitted, allowing him to wrap his fingers her wrist, and with a gentle tug, he led her to stand behind him, resting her hand on his shoulder. Hera could hardly believe what he was silently asking her to do, but after pushing aside her timidity when it came to touching him, she began to rub his shoulders.

Dracula took note of how uncomfortable she was at first, but he lacked the willpower to let her stop. For the oddest reason, since that night he had shared her bed all those weeks ago, he had found himself craving her touch. Her hands on his shoulders, rubbing away the tension in his muscles – it was exactly what he needed and he unwittingly let out a soothed sigh, the sound of his pleasure putting Hera a little bit more at ease with the situation. His shoulders were hard and broad, and as the muscles in his back rippled beneath her touch, little fantasies began to creep into her mind.

Apparently the Count sensed her thoughts, because his lips curved into a mischievous grin as she continued.

"If I had known you'd be enjoying this as much as I, I would have had you do this sooner," he commented suggestively.

Offended by the undertone of his comment and realizing that he had been muddling about in her head, she stopped with her massage and smacked the backside of his skull, not caring if he got angry with her.

She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her by the wrist, his grip like some kind of vise.

" _That_ was uncalled for," he said with a noted degree of impatience, only tightening his grasp when she struggled.

"And _your_ comment wasn't? You are so…"

"So _what_?" he dared, standing from his seat and yanking her closer to him so he could get in her face.

He loved the fire in her eyes—that mask of defiance that thinly veiled the lust lurking in the shadows of her heart. She liked being this close to him, and that feeling was certainly mutual.

"What am I, Hera?" he challenged, his mood and tone swinging from anger and impatience to a deep suggestiveness as he pulled her even closer, draping her arm around his neck before pushing her body against his. "Dark and frightening?" he offered. "Or perhaps mysterious and tempting?" and he hovered his lips over her open mouth, threatening to steal a kiss.

Oh, did he want to.

"Arrogant," was her thoughtful answer. "Arrogant and inexplicably horny."

His smirk turned wicked as the hand that had been smoothing down her spine now slid over the curve of her backside.

"Is that so?"

"Remove your hand from my ass, Count," she ordered him, a playful sense of rebelliousness sparkling in her eyes.

It made him want to laugh.

"Or you'll what?" he dared her. "Do you still want something to do?" he asked, voice low and sensuous.

"Depends on what it is," was her answer.

"You are _so_ picky!" he taunted, feigning impatience before placing a quick and rather impulsive kiss on her lips. Then he released her, steering her toward the exit. "Go to the library – now!"

"I thought you said you were going to give me something to do!" she called peeking her head through the doorway as she watched him gather up the charred notes on his desk, placing them in a neat pile.

"I'll be there in a moment," he promised. "Now out! You're a distraction I can't afford."

"Why Dracula! I didn't know you felt that way about me," she laughed, placing her hand over her heart.

" _Miss Garret_ ," came his warning.

"Alright, I'm going, I'm going…" and she left the laboratory.

The moment she was out of sight, the Count broke character, staring after her, unaware of the soft, genuine smile that was curving his lips.

God, did he love that woman sometimes.

He was about to gather the notes off the desk and follow after her when his silent confession brought him to an abrupt halt. His smile quickly faded as his eyes went wide in disbelief.

"I _what_?" he said aloud.

Igor perked up at the sound of his master's voice.

"What, master?"

Dracula stood there in the center of the laboratory, surrounded by his minions, his servants—his hundreds of years of scheming and plotting finally on the verge of being a reality—and all of it seemed to fade into the distance as the thought of what he had just admitted to crept into his mind, effectively tearing him in two completely different directions.

He _loved_ Hera.

The Count made a face.

No… he couldn't actually _love_ her! Outside of his own personal sexual gratification, he had never been able to tolerate much of the female sex. He chuckled uncomfortably as he made his way out of the laboratory and into the hall, heading toward the library where Hera was waiting for him.

No, he didn't love her. He just… he respected her. Admired her. He wasn't in _love_ with her, what a ridiculous notion! He couldn't love! It wasn't because he didn't know how, he just refused to. Dracula had given up that emotion centuries ago. He didn't even love his own brides, what would possess him to fall in love with a _human_?

The Count tried laughing it off, though the amusement was rapidly overrun with a sense of anxiety.

He entered the library, noticing Hera sitting alone on one of the sofas by the fire. But it wasn't her scribbling at a piece of paper that troubled him so, it was that voice in the back of his head.

 _You love her, Vladislaus, don't you?_

 _No, of course not! The only thing I feel for that woman is… is mutual respect and admiration. And lust, of course, maybe even a degree of affection, but nothing more._

 _Are you sure?_

 _Yes! Of… of course I'm sure,_ was his indecisive thought as he continued to stand in the doorway, unaware that he was openly staring at the mortal in front of him who was now smiling curiously at him.

Something happened inside of him when she did that – that soft curvature of her lips, the mildly bashful flirtation in her eyes as she quickly returned her attention to the paper on her lap. The sight sent a violent round of chills through the vampire's dead body and he released a shuddering breath of delight.

 _You love her, Vladislaus._

 _I can't love her_ , he despaired after putting the Doctor's notes in their usual hiding place. _Loving her would ruin everything_.

 _Why would loving a woman you have clearly had feelings for from the beginning ruin everything?_

 _The back-up plan_ , he reminded himself. _If I can't bring the children of my brides to life, Hera can at least give me what I seek. But I cannot use her in the way that I need to if I love her. I can't love her. I don't. I am fond of the mortal; that is all._

 _Then why the jealousy? Why the almost personal vendetta against the gypsy prince, the very man that so cruelly used her? You manipulated the situation, Vladislaus. You knew the two of them were doomed from the start and you had to make sure that when Velkan finally broke her heart, when the truth was revealed, she'd come running to you._

 _That's not true._

 _Yes it is. Velkan never would have said the things he did to Anna had you not planted the seeds in the first place._

 _But he was using her! He just couldn't see it – I made him see._

 _You were projecting, Vladislaus._

 _Was not._

 _Very well, if you insist. But if Velkan didn't love her and if you are only fond of her, then why would you warn her of the prince's betrayal? You didn't want her heart to be broken, but you did it anyway… just so she'd leave the gypsy prince._

 _With good reason,_ he argued with himself. _I softened the blow for her – I was being generous._

 _That's some impressive rationalization._

Dracula grumbled an oath under his breath as he continued to silently debate with that nagging voice in the back of his head before his attention returned to the woman on the sofa, temporarily distracting him from his internal struggle.

 _If you don't love her, then why did you sleep with her?_ his mind taunted.

Dracula's expression fell with a look of utter defeat as his conscience reprimanded him.

 _You didn't just seduce her, Vladislaus; you didn't have mindless sex. You made_ love _to her. You gave and gave without a single thought for yourself. You meant everything that night, every touch, kiss, and word. You did it because you wanted to make her feel good, because you wanted her to want you, to realize and forever know that Velkan could never compare to you. And then you bit her out of jealousy that night, jealousy and fear that the infernal gypsy prince would steal her away from you._

 _I can't love her_ , Dracula thought pitifully as he made his way over to Hera, standing behind the couch at which she sat, the human completely oblivious to the fact that he was there, looking over her shoulder. He wasn't looking at what she was writing though; he was too busy staring longingly at the mark he had placed on her neck that fateful evening.

 _Why did you do it, Vladislaus? Why did you mark her?_

 _I couldn't let him take her from me,_ he thought. _Not when he doesn't love her. She is worthy of one who can appreciate and adore her as she is. Velkan could never understand…_

 _And you are such a man? Do you have what it takes to love her in the way that she deserves? Are you able to put her needs above your own in all things? Are you capable of abandoning the plan in order to spare her?_

Count Dracula couldn't answer that question right now.

Although he wasn't ready to admit that he loved the woman, he was fully aware that he was infatuated with her. Obsessed. A man possessed.

The vampire leaned against the back of the sofa, reaching out for a lock of Hera's hair and he began to twist it around his finger, a very thoughtful, unreadable expression on his face. He wondered silently what it was about this mortal that drew him to her so—what it was that made him act so irrationally and helpless when he was around her.

Hera finally stopped writing and turned her head, letting it fall back so she could look up at him. Her gaze was sharp, attentive and trusting. A soft smile, very discrete and barely noticeable, curved Dracula's thin lips as he got lost in her eyes, still gently curling some of her hair around a long digit.

Her hair was so soft, fragrant. He wanted to bury his face into it, just like he wanted to bury himself inside of her until the heat that radiated from her flesh thawed out the cold deep in the marrow of his bones.

"Count?" Hera called, pulling him out of his fantasy.

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?" she asked, cocking a brow. He chuckled and removed his fingers from her hair as he straightened.

"I'm fine," he assured her, disappearing into one of the rows of books. "At least I hope so," he added to himself before speaking aloud again so she could hear him. "I was just thinking."

"About what?" came her query as she returned to her paper. Dracula studied the titles of several books before selecting one in particular, returning to where Hera was still located.

"Nothing you need to worry about," was his reply. "Now then, do you still need something to do?" and he moved around the sofa so he stood in front of her now, when he finally took actual note of the paper on her lap. "I see you've already found something to occupy your time with."

"An idea struck me while I was waiting for you," she explained. "Tell me, if you had to describe Anna in one word, what would it be?"

He thought about it for a moment as he tossed the book he had selected onto the coffee table and seated himself beside the human.

"I can think of more than one," he replied. "And let me warn you, not all of them are pleasant."

"That's fine. I'm making a list."

He sent her an arched look and peered over at the writing on the piece of parchment. In a very sloppy, yet legible cursive, were several familiar names all underlined with numerous adjectives and phrases underneath the individuals in question. He noticed his bride's names, Velkan's, Anna's, his own… even Igor's.

"What is this for?"

"I told you I was bored. I'm making a list of words and descriptions that best illustrates all of the people I've met during my time here, so I can then compare them to my preconceived notions. I'm focusing on the most influential persons I've come across."

The vampire laughed.

"Igor is influential?" he mused. "You should tell him that. He'd be flattered."

"So, what do you think of Anna?" she persisted.

"Miss Garret, this is ridiculous! Must you waste my time with something so trivial and mundane? I have much better things I could be doing right now."

"You could use the distraction to clear your head and I'm tired of entertaining myself. Humor me, Count," she insisted. "Now, Anna is…?"

Dracula thought about it, rather resentfully too.

"She's stubborn," was his response, succumbing to Hera's request. The woman immediately wrote the word down beneath Anna's name.

"What else?"

"Miss Garret, please!"

"Count, it's really not _that_ painful! Now come on, give me some words, or you can go back to your deciphering of Frankenstein's code!"

He grumbled as he removed his jacket and tossed it onto a neighboring chair so he could get more comfortable.

"She's emotional."

"No she's not," Hera said, rolling her eyes as she wrote down the word anyway.

"You asked me for my opinion, I'm sharing it with you."

Dracula leaned back and closed his eyes, his feet crossed and resting on the edge of the coffee table in front of him as he pondered Anna Valerious for a moment or two.

"She's an excellent leader—the villagers look up to her a great deal. More so than they do to her brother, anyway." Hera wrote down the word _leader_. "She also strikes me as more of an introvert – she bottles things up, buries her problems instead of coping with them," and he sat up a bit, his feet planted on the ground again as he leaned forward, tapping his chin with his steeple-positioned fingers.

He hadn't really thought of Anna too much before and doing so was a strange exercise.

He offered a few more suggestions, and then they moved to Boris. After Boris Valerious came Igor, then the Count's brides—and soon enough, after at least two hours of this, they arrived at Velkan, to which Dracula had nothing nice to say. He offered words like _weak_ , _entitled, self-righteous, egotistical,_ and _a terrible swordsman_.

"Clearly you don't like the gypsy prince," the young woman eventually pointed out, noticing how the Count's eyebrows furrowed slightly as she tried to dig more positive characteristics out of him.

"He's one of the enemy," he explained. "And he's competition. Much more of a challenge versus his younger sister."

"Competition?" Hera repeated with a laugh. "He's a mortal, Count. You said it yourself a few weeks ago. You could kill him with a flick of your wrist." Dracula had trouble suppressing his pleasure at her comment as he watched her write down the word _competition_ underneath Velkan's name.

"Fine then, what do _you_ think of him, Miss Garret?" he challenged. "Let's see if _you_ can come up with anything positive after two weeks ago."

"I accept your challenge," she teased. "Despite his many faults, Velkan Valerious is physically attractive." Dracula made a face, illustrating his blatant disapproval of her description. Of course, the oath muttered under his breath gave him away rather nicely too. "He can be thoughtful, sensitive, and for the most part, he's fairly honorable."

" _Honorable_? And this is your view of the man who lied to you and used you?"

"You're using me," she pointed out, and he shrugged, offering her a defeated expression. "The only difference is I'm totally and completely aware of it. You don't try to hide it… he did."

"A fair observation, although by your own definition then, Velkan isn't honorable."

"Point taken," and she crossed out the word. "You know, I realized something the other day."

"About Velkan?"

"Yes. He is rather transparent when it comes to the motivations behind his actions. In retrospect, I should have seen it coming, but I never did. Or rather, I didn't want to. I was so determined to see the best in him that I completely ignored the worst."

"It's understandable," he replied. "After all, you're just a mortal of barely six-and-twenty. You have very little experience when it comes to reading people."

"That's only partially true," was her rebuttal, and she placed the paper and pen down onto the coffee table in front of her. "Your brides, and even Anna, are very easy to read. It's you men that have proven to be so infuriatingly difficult."

Dracula laughed.

"My sex isn't complicated! It's you women that remain so perplexing."

"Of course, how could I have forgotten? All you men care about is food, sleeping, and sex. In that order, I might add."

"It's a fair assessment, although the sequence is debatable. But we men can't get any simpler than that."

"You are hopeless," Hera laughed and she playfully smacked his arm.

The two chuckled about it for a moment or two, until the laughter died and a strange, awkward silence filled the room. Hera was no longer maintaining eye-contact with the Count. She was staring at the list on the coffee table in front of her, all too aware of Dracula's intense gaze and the question she knew was about to follow.

"You know, you forgot someone on that list of yours," he pointed out slyly and Hera's attention immediately fell to her hands.

"I did?" she asked with feigned innocence and it made him smile mischievously.

"You forgot about me."

Hera was too nervous to meet his eyes, to so much as move as he inched closer to her on the sofa.

"What about you?" she said, begging her heartbeat to slow down as it had begun to race with his nearness. She felt the vampire's long, spidery fingers run along the length of her jaw before residing underneath her chin and guiding her eyes to meet his.

"What do you think of me? If you had to describe me, how would you do it?"

His voice was smooth, low in pitch, and filled with subtle suggestion. She loved listening to him talk, even if his words annoyed her to no end. His accent lit a fire in her soul—each articulation flawless, his rich Romanian accent like some sort of smooth silk to her ears.

Whether it was his aristocratic charms or the man that he truly was, she'd never really know. But Hera realized in that moment that she would never be able to deny him anything. His voice and the way he stared so longingly at her was enough to reduce her into a heated liquid mess and it was embarrassing.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Curiosity," was the single word that escaped his lips as he looked deeper into her eyes.

"You're manipulative," was her first word. "You are proud, arrogant, perilously charming, and you have it in you to be dreadfully impatient."

"Such a harsh analysis of my character, spitfire. Is that truly all you think of me?" he asked, knowing her answer before she even opened her mouth.

"You're a gentleman when you want to be, and in my time, your kind are very few." Hera felt him move closer, his fingers getting tangled up in her hair as he cradled the back of her skull in his palm. "You're seductive, a deadly temptation, the lover of lovers, a master at your craft." She felt his remaining hand rest on her knee and it slowly began to slide up the length of her thigh as he leaned in closer. "Your possessiveness is inexcusable, but how passionate you can be is overwhelming, and certainly not in a bad way."

His hand now resided over her thigh and Hera could feel that aching between her legs as her body recalled how those beautiful fingers of his had pleased her before. She longed to have him in her again, to feel stretched and full, to come undone beneath him. She wanted it again, as wanton and foolish as it all was, and it took everything in her to rein herself in.

"You're a complete mystery. Just when I think I have you all figured out, I realize that I'm so far from ever fully understanding you," she continued in an effort to distract herself from the phantom pulsations in her sex.

"Why would you want to understand me?" he asked, his voice more of a husk than anything else. He was staring longingly at her lips, and she knew what he wanted to do.

"I don't know," was her answer, and she inhaled the cool of his breath, his mouth mere inches from her own.

"Do you want me?" he whispered, straining to keep himself sane and under control, but that control was on the brink of shattering.

He couldn't resist this beautiful temptation of a woman for much longer. Not when they were alone like this, not when she was looking at him the way she was, with her thoughts scarlet red – so unapologetically graphic and dissolute.

"No," she lied.

He saw right through her, and her denial made him crave her all the more.

He had the sudden aching need possess her; to feel her, hot and wanting, accepting of his every whim as he pleasured her. The longer he denied himself of this, the more enticing she became.

"That's a pity," was his response.

Dracula couldn't even continue on with his response. He was fighting with himself, struggling to withstand those primal urges, to remain in control – any bystander could have seen it in the way his knuckles whitened as he gripped the back of the couch, the way his body seemed to tense as his body effortlessly leaned in her direction.

He had to stop this.

The vampire knew that playing with fire was a dangerous pastime but how could he resist?

He could feel her calling for him – body and soul – as if some inexplicable gravitational pull was slowly drawing them closer together and then she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue as though she were parched and at the sight, he was lost.

As if he were momentarily possessed by his more baser instincts, Dracula's control slipped with alarming ease as he closed the distance between them, taking Hera's mouth in a blazing kiss. The contact was electric and when he cupped the side of her face in his hand and she clutched the front of his shirt in response, a flood of warmth enveloped him.

It was almost magical – the way a mere touch from this woman could make him feel more alive than he had in centuries. His skin tingled in waves, down his neck and back, up his arms and straight into his groin. Kissing her was like bathing in fire, only instead of writhing in agony, Dracula found himself consumed in an unfathomable bliss that he'd never fully understand or recover from.

Kissing Hera felt both dangerous and safe, thrilling yet frightening, a swarm of paradoxical emotions that left him dizzy and confused – but the sound of her softly sighing in delight inspired him, and his lips moved over hers with wondrous sensuality.

His onslaught was powerful.

Erotic.

Hotter than Hades.

As he pressed her back onto the sofa until she was horizontal beneath him, Hera whimpered as that familiar wanting devoured her whole. Her thighs instinctually parted so she could cradle him between her legs, her hips arching up as she rose against the hard masculinity of his significantly larger body. The friction elicited a stifled moan deep in the center of Dracula's chest, his brows furrowed over eyes clenched shut as the feel of her responsive body seduced him.

Before he could get too lost in the pleasure as all the blood in inside of him seemed to rush to his cock, Hera boldly pulled him back down for another round of kisses, her courage and unapologetic lust rousing him to plunder her mouth deeply and without question or thought.

He had no idea why _,_ but all he knew was her taste… her body… and the unsustainable craving for more of her. He could feel her hands sliding up the length of his torso. Before she could gain more ground, he quickly grabbed hold of her wrists and held them down, forbidding her the pleasure of touching him—though not to spite her as he had done in the past.

No, right now he was struggling to regain control over himself and he knew that if she managed to touch him further, they would both walk through the doors of intimacy and never again emerge.

Mildly frustrated with the act of dominance, but also sexually frustrated to the point of borderline madness, Hera's body hijacked her sense of reason as she found herself struggling against his hold, matching her strength to his. She needed to touch him, to hold him to her as he continued to kiss her – to do _something_ besides just accepting whatever he gave.

With a roll of her hips and the two still a tangle of limbs, Hera and the Count suddenly found themselves rolling off the sofa. When gravity had them sprawled out on the floor, the young woman was surprised to find that it was the Count who was now flat on his back beneath her.

The two stopped kissing and just stared at one another for an extended moment, panting and hot. The ache that was pulsating beneath the woman's skin was driving her wild and she longed more than anything to relieve the tension.

Her knees slid and soon rested on either side of his waist as she ran herself down the length of his frame, creating a delicious friction between their bodies until she could feel the evidence of his arousal between her legs.

The vampire let out a shaky moan.

The throb of his genitals was hard and spastic. His hands smoothed over her thighs, holding her in place. He was like a diamond between her legs and he knew the moment when her sexual frustration turned into something inexplicably hot. He could smell her arousal, a lovely sweetening in the air.

She was calling for him again – her soul for his – and his body answered without his consent, hips moving in a circle so he could rub himself against her.

Dracula noticed a moment of indecisiveness flash in Hera's eyes, the woman torn between a need to surrender to temptation and the more logical side of her brain which was screaming at her to stop this lunacy. Although he was experiencing a very similar battle in his own mind, he couldn't bear the thought of ending this moment between them, and the longer she sat on top of him, contemplating what to do, the harder it became for the Count to regain his sense of self-control.

All rational thought was drowned out by the sound of Hera's heart pounding violently in her chest. He could practically hear the blood rushing through her veins, saturating her insides, engorging her sex, preparing her body for what it so desperately wanted – what he also wanted. Eager to nurture the tension between them, he grabbed her hips in his hands without warning and pulled her slightly forward so he could rub himself between her legs a bit forcefully, his hips riding up, his need pressing harder against her.

Hera's gaze caught his and she stared into his glowing eyes, reading his expression—a plea she had never seen in him before. He wanted her to grind into him. The unspoken suggestion was shocking—unexpected, but her body responded before her mind could, and she rocked her hips, rubbing against him.

Dracula groaned her name, fangs lengthening as his arousal increased. She reached out to touch him, to splay her hands over his chest, to feel the surge of his expanding ribcage each time he took in another useless breath, but he caught hold of her wrists, still stubborn enough to refuse her this.

"Let me touch you," she pleaded, putting all her weight on his hands, but he held her back as if it were nothing, his eyes still locked on hers.

"Tell me how you feel," he commanded and Hera groaned in annoyance.

"Vladislaus! Right now is _not_ thetime for 'twenty questions.'"

She had used his name…

He nearly laughed. She _really_ must have been irritated by this.

"Just tell me, Hera," he insisted, thrusting his hips up so he dug between her legs once more, lifting her off the ground slightly. She let out a beautiful whimper and clenched her eyes shut before answering his question.

"Hot," she breathed, their fingers entwined as she leaned forward, putting the majority of her weight on his hands, her face soon perched above his own. "Achy. Hungry."

Her eyes opened momentarily, her irises notably brighter – like rings of honey swirling around dilated pupils. The look she gave him was positively smoldering.

" _Wet_ ," she purred.

"Really?" he wondered aloud, almost surprised by the audacious suggestion.

" _Oh yes_ ," came her erotic answer and she kissed him.

"Why do you want to touch me with your hands?" was his next inquiry.

Hera never answered his question, but the look in her eyes said everything.

She wanted to feel him, to please him as he had done with her, that night back in Castle Dracula. The night he came to her.

But the tightening of her thighs around his hips told him so much more—she desired him. _All_ of him… and oh, the temptation to grant her what she craved. He longed to, more than anything else in the world.

Well… almost.

And being the observant woman she was, Hera immediately caught his moment of indecision and it sparked a change in the air between them. The mind-numbing lust started to dwindle a little as she studied his eyes in that deafening silence.

Hera had never been one to desire the ability to read a person's mind before, but in that moment she wished she could read the Count's. She could tell just by looking at him that there was so much he wasn't telling her, a distance between them that no amount of physical intimacy could traverse. Despite how close they had grown over the last few weeks especially, he was still keeping her at an arm's length and for the life of her, she couldn't understand why.

But that restraint of his was disheartening and it cooled whatever heated longing she had felt just moments ago.

Count Dracula may have had hidden depths that few could see, but he would never open himself up completely to her – and why? Because he was using her. At least, that's what Hera assumed and he had never made any attempts to convince her otherwise.

The young woman sighed heavily, expression falling in evident disappointment as she broke eye-contact with him.

"Why do I want you?" she suddenly asked, a pathetic twinge to her voice. "Why do I want you when I _know_ you're using me?"

"You don't know that."

"But you said it yourself," she insisted, any lust she had felt before now gone. "I'm just a piece on a board to you and little else. You warned me that you would only ever use me… and despite everything, you are using me still."

"Things change, Hera. Motives rarely ever stay the same in cases such as these," he breathed, not knowing where _that_ came from, and it was too late to take it back.

Although a little taken aback by that proclamation, it was clear she was having trouble trusting his words. Hera continued to sit there on top of the vampire, staring into his eyes, unsure of what to think or feel or how to react. The woman never had the chance to say anything in response to his comment however.

Igor soon interrupted them.

"Master!"

Igor could not see his master, nor Hera, due to the fact that a sofa blocked them from his view.

"Master!"

As soon as Hera got off of the Count and reclaimed her seat on the sofa, Dracula quickly climbed to his feet before his servant could take notice of him.

"What is it Igor?" he asked as naturally as possible.

"One of the wolves reported back with news that the people in the village have tied the gypsy prince to a stake in the woods. They're using him as a sacrifice in hopes that you'll call back the rest of the dogs."

Dracula could feel Hera's gaze burning into the back of his skull, but he ignored it as best he could.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Send one out to retrieve him!" the Count shouted. "What? Do I have to tell you pathetic fools to do _everything_ around here?" and he marched towards the exit, grabbing his jacket from off the sofa.

"Of course not, master. I'll go send one of the wolves out immediately."

"I want a watch on Prince Velkan at all times… if he gets bitten, I want him brought directly to me. Understood?" he called after Igor.

Hera could hear the servant's voice fading in the distance.

"Yes, master."

She sighed heavily as she and the Count made eye contact for a brief moment before he retreated from the room. As soon as he was gone, she grabbed the sheet of paper from off the table and wrote beneath the Count's name: _baffling._ And indeed he was. She didn't know _what_ to think of him. One minute he was all over her as if his entire existence depended on it, and the next, he was distant, indifferent, passionless… aloof.

Hera crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it into the fire.

* * *

 **A tremendous thank you to** Scarlet Empress **,** the invisible reader **,** She-Devil Red **,** Kiriari **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** niccalexandra51 **,** RegencyPoet **,** alexc1209 **,** 12345678910 **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** FallinAngelGirl **,** Forbidden Moons **,** Bloodsired **,** happysobbingfan **,** Guest **, and** BornRose2 **for your wonderful reviews of the last chapter!**

 **Would love to hear your thoughts on this most current one! Thank you again for reading!**

 **\- T**


	35. Debts to Pay, Promises to Keep

**I must admit - I'm really curious to see how you guys respond to this chapter. Dracula, as we all know, has been undergoing some hefty character development, but as you're about to see - he still has that arrogant asshole streak in him. I'm trying to make his transformation realistic, you guys - so don't get _too_ frustrated with him. ;) People don't dramatically change overnight.**

 **I do love reading your reactions to the things that have been happening in this story though; but what I love even more is when you guys dive into the characters and what they're experiencing and try to unveil the deeper layers hidden beneath everything else.**

 **Either way, I hope you enjoy. Forgive any mistakes I may have missed and don't forget to review!**

 **Thank you to** alexc1209 **,** the invisible reader **,** Scarlet Empress **,** She-Devil Red **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** Nyx-Arae **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** ShadowSpade **,** Bloodsired **,** RegencyPoet **,** TendernessOfTheHeart **,** Guest **,** AnimeFan001 **, and** Forbidden Moons **for reviewing chapter 34. You guys are awesome!**

 **Oh! And before I forget - I have a proposition I'd like to put before you guys. It's at the end of the chapter. Would appreciate your input! :)**

* * *

 **XXXV**

 _ **Debts to Pay, Promises to Keep**_

The deep forest was already cool with the chill of fall, hinting at the bite of winter. In the misty gloom and fading moonlight, Velkan was bound to the sacrificial post, his hands tied over his head. He flexed against his bonds, but gave no struggle. An unusual silence had descended on the forest—even the early morning mountain winds could barely be heard rustling through the branches. If the gypsy prince felt any growing anxiety, he gave no apparent sign, scanning the trees around him, boldly prepared to meet his fate.

He had made a deal—and despite his better judgment, it was time to pay up.

 _Snap_.

A twig fell from above.

The rustle of leaves.

Remarkably small indications considering what they heralded.

More noise.

The creak of a tree.

Velkan's head suddenly craned upward, feeling the beast he had been struggling to vanquish circle him.

Even from thirty feet below, the creature was remarkably agile for something with its great mass and its height of more than seven feet. Using its very large and sharp claws, the werewolf clung nearly horizontally to the bark of the tree. It took a moment to study its prey with terrible cunning in its eyes, allowing its master to see through those disgusting rings of yellow.

Through the wolf's eyes and being a significantly safe distance from the clearing, Dracula watched Prince Velkan with interest, noticing how the prince stayed alert, but steady and defiant, remarkably so for someone facing one of the most dangerous creatures on Earth. The wolf was getting impatient. The vampire could sense this, but with his will bent against the beast, he ordered it to remain silent and in position.

"Come on," Velkan challenged the wolf, unaware that its master was only a few feet away. "Dracula unleashed you for a reason."

Dracula's lips curved into a twisted smile.

"That's right, little prince," he whispered softly. "I did."

With a flick of his wrist, he ordered the wolf to attack.

Snarling viciously through its awful, oversized canines, it leaped down from its perch, all too eager to tear its helpless victim to shreds.

"I'm going to enjoy this," Dracula muttered to himself, waiting for the wolf to tear the human's body to nothing but ribbons of carnage, but something happened that the vampire had only half expected.

The prince had ripped loose of his bindings as the hunt came full circle. Turning, Velkan reached up and vaulted to the top of the post the instant before the werewolf slammed into it. He then lunged to grab the vine hanging above him, even as one of his men on the ground threw a lever.

Instantly the vine pulled Velkan up and away from the monster toward safety. Or so he thought. It suddenly came to an abrupt halt and Velkan began to panic. The Prince's face drained of blood, fear pounding in his heart as the wolf climbed to the top of the post, attempting to grab hold of the human's flailing foot.

The sound of sliding metal, like a sword being unsheathed, caught the attention of the Count and he turned his head to see Princess Anna with her sword drawn, determination in her face.

He nearly burst out laughing.

"No! Anna! It will kill you!" one of the villagers called, trying to stop her, but she tore out of the older man's grip.

"That's my brother out there!" she shouted.

They had surprised the wolf and that had made it a bit more cautious. But they had also angered it, and that made it even more dangerous.

Anna charged out of the bushes, holding her sword in front of her.

Dracula, with the widening of his eyes and a snap of his will against the raging beast, commanded the werewolf to turn and the creature's eyes were instantly on the princess, as were Velkan's.

"Anna! NO!" the gypsy prince shouted.

Naturally, she ignored him, unwilling to let her brother die without at least attempting to help him.

Dracula watched as she covered the distance between herself and her brother rather quickly, raising her blade higher. The beast had a hint of hesitance in its eyes as it eyed the two siblings. Dracula was having a difficult time deciding too. Should he just take care of Velkan and stick to the plan? Or should he kill Anna?

Either way, he couldn't lose, so he ordered the beast to attack the princess, and it did, diving off the post and into her direction. Steeling herself, Anna lifted her weapon and prepared to strike, but before she could, she watched as the werewolf sailed through the air. It landed hard on the ground just a few feet in front of her and it kept falling, into the hidden trap, the exact location of which even Anna had forgotten in the heat of the moment.

The vampire in the shadows cursed viciously under his breath, his eyes glowing a hellish blue, fangs peeking between his lips. What infuriated him even more was when one of the villagers raised an ax to cut a rope and a huge iron cage seemed to rip itself from the ground in front of Anna with the werewolf inside of it. Velkan had a revolver in his hand, loaded with silver bullets from what the vampire could sense and his rage magnified as the Valerious brats continued to outsmart him.

He did, however, receive a hint of satisfaction as he watched the gun get knocked from Velkan's hands as he sat helpless in the tree, getting hit with the cage, the beast raging, fighting to get out. Villagers began to shoot at the monster—a very foolish venture. If they succeeded in hitting the werewolf, they would only enrage it.

"NO!" came Anna's voice as she tore through the men. "Find Velkan's gun! It has to be the silver bullets!"

Dracula watched as several of the ropes sustaining the cage snapped from the force of the beast's thrashing and a malicious smile began to curve his lips. Just a few more ropes, and the wolf would be free. He urged it with his mind to fight harder, and the monster began to thrash more violently in the cage.

Just before Anna could grab the revolver lying on the ground, the cage came crashing down. An instant later, the werewolf burst forth from its smashed prison, and Anna saw the anger blazing in its horrible yellow eyes.

"Kill her!" Dracula screamed in the werewolf's mind and the wolf growled as it tore out of the cage, watching as Anna turned and ran for her life. "Kill her now!"

She did not have to look back to know that the werewolf was on her heels. As Anna and the monster vanished into the forest, Dracula's attention turned to that of Velkan who had leapt from the tree to the forest floor, grabbing hold of his revolver and bolting after Anna.

The vampire hissed and took off into the skies. The sun was just about to break through those mountains; he was running out of time!

He could see Anna on the edge of a cliff looking over the Danube just a few yards ahead, the wolf ready to tear her to pieces, when the impossible happened. Dracula watched from above as Velkan pushed his sister roughly aside, his gun raised at the airborne wolf and a loud bang resonated off the canyon walls. The werewolf howled in pain but managed to lunge forward, biting into Velkan's shoulder and throwing him backward in the abyss.

Relieved, and not to mention satisfied beyond reason, Dracula took off towards the banks of the river, never really noticing Anna and her tears. He hardly cared, his eyes frantically searching for the Valerious brat.

Cursing softly under his breath, he quickly materialized farther downstream to the calmer waters. It took some patience, but within moments he caught sight of a head of brown hair, the water surrounding the floating body a lusting red. Dracula kept his hunger in check as Velkan floated toward the shore, unwittingly climbing towards his new master—the very man he had sworn to never bow down to.

The promise Velkan had intended on keeping this morning hadn't been the one he had made with Dracula. It had been the one he had made to his father—to protect the people and to keep his sister safe.

He had done that much today.

But at a cost he hadn't considered.

Velkan continued to climb to shore, still unaware that Dracula stood in front of him, until he accidentally grabbed his boots with his wet, bloodstained hands and managed to lift his head, despite the profuse pain in his shoulder that was now creeping up to his neck. The blur in his vision dissipated rather quickly and the vampire came into focus.

"Dracula," was the one word the prince uttered. It was more of a gasp than anything else—his voice filled with dread.

"Prince Velkan Valerious," the Count drawled.

The vampire noticed the wound on the prince's shoulder and his expression turned to that of revulsion.

"You reek of wet dog," he sneered, moving to kick the human's hands that were holding him up and instead striking him in the face.

"Just let me die, Count," Velkan pleaded, rolling over onto his back on the rocky shore, panting for air. "Even _that_ is an offer you can't refuse."

"I would, but that would defeat the object," the vampire explained darkly, and with a flick of his wrist, Velkan was thrown up into the air by an invisible force.

A twisted smile marred the Count's features as amusement glittered in his eyes. Already, he had power over the Prince's body. Another sharp movement of his hand and Velkan was soon colliding with the canyon wall, a loud cry of pain echoing in the air as he crumbled to the earth while the vampire chuckled to himself before his expression drained of all emotion.

The throbbing pain in Velkan's shoulder had crept up his neck and was now spreading to his brain—it felt like his skull was on fire.

"You should have left her to me, Velkan," and the prince went soaring once more, much harder and faster now, landing flat on his face in the rocky shore beside the river, dark clouds looming over head, blocking the sun and its rays.

"You never should have slept with her, either," the Count added, his expression deadly. "You knew what you were risking that night, but you did it anyway. Deciding it was better to satisfy your own lusts than keeping your cover, keeping her safe."

Velkan was soon hurdled back into the canyon wall, a sickening crunch of the prince's shattered ribs resonating in the vampire's ears – like music. Velkan was in a heap on the ground, bloodied up, filthy, and sobbing quietly. Not only because he was in pain, but because of all the stupid, selfish mistakes he had made.

He had lost Hera to this man, this monster.

And in his mind, he had no one to blame but himself.

Dracula bent down beside the human, a thoughtful expression in his eyes.

"I'm curious though, little prince. Why did you do it? Why did you use her?"

"Why do you even care?"

That wasn't the answer the vampire wanted, and a nice tug of the human's hair made that abundantly clear.

"Try again," Dracula hissed.

Velkan just wept.

These last few weeks had been so hard on him. He missed Hera—God, did he miss her. He beat himself up repeatedly for letting her slip through his fingers, for treating her as he had. The moment he had lost her, he had realized.

He _had_ loved her.

More than he had loved anyone else. And he ruined that. It wasn't Dracula's fault, he thought to himself, it was his own.

The vampire repeated his earlier question and Velkan did his best to control his emotions, but it was useless.

"I wanted to keep her away… from you," he insisted, staring defiantly into the Count's menacing eyes.

"And you've done an _extraordinary_ job, your highness," Dracula mocked, throwing Velkan's face back into the ground. "She is mine now."

Velkan sent the vampire a nasty look and Dracula sneered, pulling the human's hair so his ear was right beside the monster's cold, dead lips.

"You know, when I took her, she never once tried to stop me. In fact, she _begged_ me for more."

Velkan growled slightly, enraged, giving the reaction the Count had wanted.

"I'll kill you. I'll KILL you!" Velkan swore.

"She has forgotten all about you, little prince," he drawled. "All she wants is me. All she thinks about is me."

Velkan began to cry pitifully, the image of the scene that the vampire king was painting in his head appalling.

"She is mine. Her loyalty is mine, her _body_ is mine, and soon," he whispered in the prince's ear, "her soul will be mine. And as of this moment, you work for _me_ now, your grace," the Count informed him, hardly caring that Velkan was beginning to lose consciousness.

He had lost too much blood and the poison that was now pumping through his veins was beginning to take its toll on him. The change would happen soon. With a snap of Dracula's fingers, Igor, accompanied with several Dwergi appeared from the forests, heading down towards the shore where their master and his new slave resided.

"Igor!" Dracula shouted impatiently.

"Yes, master?"

"Take Prince Velkan to his new home," he ordered. "I want him broken before the week is out."

"Yes master. Of course. Igor will obey."

Dracula watched with a twisted smile as Velkan was carried away. Everything was going according to plan. He had Hera on his side, he had just acquired Velkan, and Boris was long dead. All he had to do now was take care of Anna. He'd have to do it without informing Hera, of course—the woman was still attached to the gypsy princess. But he knew of the most perfect individuals to take care of the job so his hands could remain clean.

With his confidence inflated, the Count stalked back into the depths of the forest before taking to flight, heading back home.

Hera would forgive him for his time away. Besides, he needed to put some space between himself and that woman. Things were getting far too dangerous between them. He had been playing with fire for too long now, and it was only a matter of time before things got out of hand once more.

Only when that time came, the repercussions of it would be felt, ten-fold.

He needed to maintain a better sense of control over himself, over his cravings and impulses. Hera was an excellent insurance policy, yes, but she was trouble, a risk he wasn't so sure he could take, although he wanted to. God, did he want to lose control completely once more.

And the longer he denied himself the pleasure of taking her, the more ferocious and demanding his inner demon became. The mortal made him feel like he was parched and starving and it was something that not even his brides could seem to quench or sate anymore, despite their experience and constant attempts.

A growing part of him almost didn't care if those three discovered he and Hera in the act, but it was these rash thoughts and behaviors that frightened the Count so.

No woman had ever been able to successfully distract him to such a degree and that knowledge worried him, especially as the days continued on and the real danger grew ever closer.

* * *

 **Alright friends, I have a bit of a confession to make.**

 **Although I know the vast majority of you guys are thoroughly enjoying this story** (and you have no idea how happy that makes me) **, I've been working on this revamp shenanigans for over a year now and I'm just so done. I love this story, but I need it out of my system so I can move on to other things. It's holding me back and that's just driving me crazy. I know this all makes me sound a little... _odd_... but trust me. Your authoress confined is not as fun as it sounds. She gets vicious and impatient and stops caring about quality. And we don't want that, do we? **

**Muse: No, we don't.**

 **Authoress: Precisely. SO! I have a proposition for you -**

 **Now, you'll recall, throughout the month of July, I posted 4 chapters a week. It was a TON of work to get chapters update-worthy on time, but I definitely think you guys enjoyed the frequency and I know I thoroughly enjoyed hearing from you all as much as I did. Now, I want to do that again, but for the rest of the story** (we have like 30 chapters left) **AND I'd like to take it one step further. Instead of 4 chapters a week** (1 on Monday, 1 on Wednesday, and 2 on Friday) **I kind of want to see if I can do 6** (yes, you read that right - SIX) **chapters a week** (so 2 on Monday, Wednesday, _and_ Friday OR 1 Monday through Thursday and 2 on Friday) **.**

 **I've set up a poll on my bio/profile thingy and I want you all to vote! If you don't have an account, I want you to tell me via review! Your opinion is important to me and I want to hear from you!**

 **My only request is that you guys continue to give feedback as the updates become more frequent. I'm finalizing my plans for my next big story and I need to know what works here and what doesn't so when I go to write that new story, I'll be better prepared. I'm counting on you all, so don't let me down!**

 **Okay my lovelies, go vote and don't forget to leave a review for this chapter! Love and appreciate you guys more than you could possibly know! Thank you for your constant support!**

 **\- T**


	36. Unable to Stay Focused

**The masses have spoken. Starting today, until the story is done** (unless I get overwhelmed and need a break) **, from here on out, I will be posting six chapters a week - one new chapter every Monday through Thursday and two new chapters every Friday. Here's to hoping I can stay on top of this.**

 **As I mentioned before, your feedback is still essential and will of course remain profoundly appreciated as we race through the rest of this story. If you see any room for improvement, I want you to tell me** (tactfully, of course) **. If you love it just the way it is, I want you to tell me. Okay? Okay.**

 **A huge thank you to** Madam Silver **,** 12345678910 **,** the invisible reader **,** Scarlet Empress **,** She-Devil Red **,** alexc1209 **,** Bloodsired **,** Nyx-Arae **,** TendernessOfTheHeart **,** FallinAngelGirl **,** hyperfangirl **,** RegencyPoet **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** Forbidden Moons **,** AnimeFan001 **,** ShadowSpade **,** Kiki's Stories of Awesomeness **, and** bloodyrose2014 **for reviewing chapter 35 - as well as a tremendous thank you to** Cosmopolitan Countess **,** **who is presently playing catch up on the earlier chapters. Your feedback and commentary means more to me than you can possible imagine. Please keep it coming!**

 **Forgive any errors I may have missed and ENJOY!**

* * *

 **XXXVI**

 _ **Unable to Stay Focused**_

"Master?" Igor called. "Where do you want the dynamos?"

The vampire let out a sigh of annoyance.

"Oh I don't know, Igor. Why not put them where the other dynamos were _last_ time!" he snapped, returning his attention to the charred notes.

A soft chuckle reached his ears and he glanced up at Hera who sat across from him. She had offered to assist him with the deciphering of Victor's notes and was proving to be more valuable than he had imagined. She had already "translated" and decoded at least six pages tonight, where as he was _still_ working on his second.

Although her ease and ability to read and decipher the late doctor's handwriting clearly surpassed his own, that wasn't the main reason why she had managed to outdo him this evening. Oh no; his mind had been far more agreeably engaged. He had been spending the better part of the evening studying the woman as she worked, memorizing every aspect of her face, ever curve and crease, every blemish and freckle.

Her lips were pressed shut, although she opened them periodically to bite her lower lip, which he noticed she did whenever she was on to something. That, and she'd twist and curl her hair around her finger as she read. Hera had barely spoken a word all evening, and the longer this silence went on between them, the more he wanted her to talk. Not simply for the hope of some sort of conversation; he just wanted to hear her voice, oddly enough.

Unwilling, however, to allow himself such subjugation, he remained silent, doing his best to keep his eyes and attention on the task before him. But it was hard, oh so very hard. Their kiss from earlier this week still haunted his lips, as did the memories of her straddling him with her thighs – the sexual friction, the deliciously random and intimate moment they had shared.

He had no idea why that brief encounter had been on his mind so much, or more accurately, why _she_ had been on his mind so much. She was just a human! It was so incredibly infuriating to him, having to silently acknowledge the fact that he willingly spent most, if not all of his waking hours with this woman who was quite accomplished at keeping to herself.

The comfortable silence coupled with that maddening sexual tension was driving him insane.

He had been devoting most, if not all of his time here in Castle Frankenstein, telling his brides repeatedly that it was for his efforts to get the progeny business up and running again, but as the evenings went by, he found himself spending less time on the progeny, and more time with Hera.

They would talk for hours about the great thinkers – scientists, philosophers, historians, and everything else in between. The vampire couldn't help _but_ spend all his time with the human. It was as if he thrived off of her—off of the life and strange swells of feeling she created within him, whether they were unpleasant or the contrary. The fact of the matter was, he was less of a monster around her and more of a man.

Dracula was falling in love with her. Harder and harder every day.

He denied this constantly when he'd argue silently with himself. But he wouldn't be able to deny it for much longer.

As autumn progressed into winter, the temptation to take Hera again in the sexual sense had become notably worse. Although he hid his urges very well, maintaining a level of civility and control when he was in her presence, he could not keep his brain from returning to their one night of passion. He found himself recalling the event constantly, lingering on every agonizing detail.

Nothing satisfied him – whether it be watching Igor "break" Velkan, or the dissolute attentions of his brides. No amount of sadism or unrepentant debauchery could sate him. The only thing that soothed the raging demon within was the mortal woman, and even her presence was becoming inadequate for him. He needed more than just her company.

Dracula wanted to possess Hera in every sense of the word, but he would not allow himself that pleasure – not yet, not until he was in the clear, and this only made his temperament worse.

His brides were the ones that noticed it most, as they had known him the longest. They no longer just sensed the change in him – they could see it. But it was when the Count forbade them from visiting Castle Frankenstein that their suspicions were truly confirmed. Hera, they naturally assumed, was the cause of this newfound distance between themselves and their sire, and they were right in their suppositions.

So within the laboratory the Count continued to sit, observing his prey, his undeclared object of desire. He hadn't touched her in over a week, and already, he was feeling the repercussions. But his self-control could astound, and now was certainly one of those instances, as he remained quiet and unmoved—at least in expression.

 _You need to stop thinking about her, Vladislaus_ that voice in the back of his mind called. _This is getting too dangerous, too out of control._

The vampire nearly rolled his eyes, in part because he couldn't believe he was having a conversation with himself… _again_.

He was finally losing his mind.

 _I barely touched her a few days ago, and I haven't done so since,_ he insisted.

 _But she is all you think about,_ his mind argued. _You said you wouldn't get emotionally attached to her and here you are. You've lost_ _sight of everything, Vladislaus! Your feelings for this mortal are complicating everything!_

 _No they aren't._

 _Yes they are! You've barely done a thing on the progeny business outside of rearranging the laboratory and pouring over these useless notes._

 _Velkan has not taken full-form yet and I can't experiment on him until he is in my complete control! These things take time!_

 _You are wasting your time! You know the experiment with Velkan won't work! You need the creature. Are you so willing to watch your young die before your eyes once more? Do you_ want _to stay up all day listening to your brides mourning another failure? Do you_ enjoy _that?_

 _Of course I don't!_ he yelled internally, his frustration starting to show in his face, the temperature dropping slightly as an unnatural chill settled in the room.

Luckily, Hera wasn't looking up at him, or she would have noticed his facial expression. She did, however, rub her arms absently in an effort to ward off the sudden cold. But that was about it. Dracula took a deep breath and let it out slowly, regaining control of his temper.

 _I do not take pleasure in listening to those three women sob for hours on end. But I have to do it. I need to buy myself time with these experiments while I look for alternatives. My children will not live without the monster._

 _Alternatives? But you already have one! Hera_ _is the alternative!_

Dracula looked up from the parchment in his hands, his eyes falling on the woman seated across from him, the anger in his eyes softening.

 _I… I don't think I can do it._

 _Why not?_

 _I can't. I can't do that to her._

 _But why? You don't love her. She doesn't love you. She clearly has no objections when it comes to being_ with _you. All you have to do is do the deed at the right time, collect your reward, and then you can move on with your life – that was the plan. That was_ always _the plan._

 _But I could lose her._

 _So? You don't love her, Vladislaus. You don't love anyone. She's just a human – another woman. She can be replaced._

 _I don't think she can_ , he thought, unaware of the forlorned sigh that escaped his lips until Hera looked up from her work.

"Is everything all right, Count?" the woman asked casually.

Dracula quickly collected himself.

"Of course," he replied, making sure to avoid eye contact with her, for fear that she'd see right through him.

Hera shrugged off his blatant attempt to cover something up as she finished her seventh page of notes—the Count still on his second.

"You seem to have an awful lot on your mind," she commented, glancing up at him for a split second before continuing with her work. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it? Maybe I can help."

Dracula knew the woman meant well, but he hated being so transparent to _anyone_ and the fact that it was Hera _,_ the very object of all this over-thinking, made his mood a bit irritable.

"Do you find it shocking that I could possibly have _anything_ to think about, or maybe it's the fact that I think at all that surprises you?" he stated caustically.

Hera's expression illustrated her confusion as she paused in her work to look up at him.

"I'm sorry I asked."

"Just… let it go, Miss Garret. I'm fine."

"Sure you are," she muttered with a roll of her eyes, evidently unconvinced.

Dracula bit his tongue in order to keep from speaking as his conscious mind berated him.

Why did her genuine concern upset him so? Was it his wounded pride? Or perhaps he just didn't know how to react when another person – let alone a woman – could care for and understand him with such ease?

After all, Dracula had spent the better part of his existence as a mystery to all—even to those supposedly closest to him. It was one of the most powerful weapons he had to keep people at an arm's length—out of his head and what was left of his calloused heart. And despite it all, Hera was unwittingly finding a way inside, continuously stripping him of his carefully crafted armor with what appeared to be very minimal effort.

Her very existence caused him to question everything – his person, his motivations, his actions, his every choice. Dracula was unaccustomed to being so vulnerable and hesitant, and in a way, it shook him to his very foundations, as though her very presence in his life threatened to overturn everything. It was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying and the Count's knee-jerk reaction was to get defensive, particularly when she wouldn't let it go.

"I'm sorry if my question offended you," Hera offered after a few moments of tense silence.

"Miss Garret, please…"

"I know you don't like talking about what goes on in your head, but I'm not an idiot, Count. I've spent the last several weeks in your company nearly every evening. I've seen the stress you've been under. I just want to help."

"I thought I asked you to drop it?"

Normally Hera would submit to the man's insistence, but not this evening.

"You can't keep hiding behind that mask of indifference, Count. Just admit it," and she pushed the notes she had been working on away from her so they were in the middle of the table. "This whole thing is frustrating and you're scared that you're wasting your time."

The look he sent her was one of utter disbelief.

How on earth did she know that?

How could she have possibly known his fears, his concerns?

"Excuse me?"

"And let's be honest! This is a complete and utter waste of your time. You need the monster to bring your children to life and nowhere in any of these notes have we been able to find a way to replicate…"

"Get out!" he ordered abruptly, his pride getting the better of him as he stood from his seat and pointed to the door.

"I'm just trying to help! What the hell is your problem?" she exclaimed defensively.

"My problem?" he repeated. "YOU are my problem!"

"Me? What the hell did I do? I've been _helping_ you in this venture, even though I should be devoting my time to thwarting you on moral grounds. But I'm not! Does that mean _nothing_ to you?"

"Hera…" he said through gritted teeth, ready to lose his cool completely.

"Oh, don't _Hera_ me!" she snapped. "It's not going to work. You know I'm right, you're just too afraid to admit it because if you do, that means you have to go home to the mothers of your offspring and explain to them that you've failed…"

"Enough!"

"No!" she shot back, standing from her seat now. "I know how important your progeny are you to, but this…"

"You think I don't already know that this is pointless?" he shot. "I've been pouring over these notes for months now and there has been absolutely _nothing_ of use."

"If you know that, then why are you getting mad at me for saying it?"

"I'm not…"

"Oh please, you _are_ angry with me. You don't just start shouting for no reason! Is it because I've finished more pages than you have in the past two hours?"

"Madam, I'm warning you…"

"Because if _that's_ your problem," she continued, ignoring him, "allow me to inform you that you'd get more done if you weren't staring off into space for hours on end! Don't think I haven't noticed! That's all you do! You just sit and stare at nothing in general or at me! I don't even _know!_ " and she threw her hands up into the air. "What are you so… so _fixated_ on?"

"Get out!" he shouted once more, moving around the desk, ready to hurdle her out of the laboratory himself by her hair, but she got the hint and started moving towards the exit, still yelling back at him.

"Why?" she screamed. "I didn't do anything! All I did was ask if you were _sane_! CLEARLY you're not! Excuse me for trying to help," and she stormed out of the room and was ready to turn around and yell back at him when he slammed the door in her face and locked it.

Hera, bewildered and equally infuriated by his behavior, swore as she kicked the door before marching down the hall and towards nowhere in particular, ignoring how he had opened the door and yelled after her, asking for clarification on what she had said. All she did was offer him an indecent finger gesture as she continued to storm down the hall, some small part of her secretly reveling in the sound of Dracula growling and slamming the laboratory door again.

The vampire muttered something indecent between gritted teeth as he stalked back over to the desk, ignoring the puzzled expression that contorted Igor's features. Dracula turned on the man, his look lethal.

"What do you want?" he seethed.

Igor swallowed hard.

"The human… she, uh… she has a point, master," Igor said very tentatively.

Dracula looked like he was on the brink of evoking hell on the shrinking Igor who suddenly felt very, very small beside his master. The vampire was almost trembling, utterly beside himself.

"Igor?" the Count whispered as calmly as he could. "You want to get back to work."

"Yes master, I do," and he scurried away quickly as Dracula continued to fume, grabbing hold of the edge of the desk and throwing it across the room.

The papers scattered everywhere as he let out an unearthly roar, his fangs bared, hair on end, every minion in the room deathly still as a bolt of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a terrifying round of thunder that rattled the windows.

 _Drama queen_ , came the sarcastic thought in his head with Hera's voice attached to it as soon as the thunder passed.

Dracula whirled his head and stared in the direction of the hall, a very eerie and deadly look of impulsiveness in his eyes. He began to march over toward the exit, an inconceivable sense of darkness and authority radiating off of him like electricity.

"Clean up this mess!" he barked as he stalked out of the laboratory, leaving the Dwergi to carry out his orders.

Meanwhile, Hera had stalked off to the darkened library, just as the tempest that had been brewing outside since yesterday finally broke loose. _Thank you, Dracula's temper_. Lightning lit up the room as she slammed the door shut behind her, her mind and body trying to control the onslaught of conflicting emotions that were swimming through her.

Though furious and confused beyond reason, with the increase in adrenaline came a frightful lust that threatened to swallow her whole. She needed to get out of here and away from _him,_ before she made another mistake like she had done during the last night of her stay in Castle Dracula.

Memories of that night attacked her suddenly and her body ached in what could only be described as sexual starvation. She wanted him—she wanted him _bad_ and Hera groaned before kicking the leg of a desk in frustration.

"No!" she screamed to the thunder as rain mercilessly pummeled the windows, another crack of lightning illuminating the room. "I don't want him! I DON'T!" and she grabbed her head, her fingers raking through her hair as she desperately tried to regain some control over herself, fighting to keep sane.

She wasn't used to these feelings, these urges that had been ruthlessly assaulting her for weeks now. She was used to order, predictability, sense, reason.

The only problem was, _nothing_ made sense anymore!

No, that wasn't it.

 _Dracula_ didn't make sense.

 _He_ wasn't predictable. _He_ wasn't reasonable.

There was no order or balance or logic when it came to that infuriating vampire or her complicated feelings for him. It was driving her mad. He must have been rubbing off on her, because she was torn between being irate with him and wanting nothing more than to rip the clothes from his body and jump his bones.

As if on cue, the entry to the library flew open just as another bolt of lightning lit up the sky and standing in the hall was the Count—as livid as ever. He marched into the room and the door slammed shut with the power of his will as he advanced towards her.

"What do you want now?!" she barked at him.

He looked as though he were ready to tear her to pieces. Anxiety and the blunt reality of her current situation suddenly shoved its way to the forefront of her brain and she backed away, moving through the furniture and such so he'd be forced to move around it to get to her… or he could just throw it out of his way like he had just done to the table.

"Count…?" she asked him nervously, not liking the look in his eyes, and yet it made her hot all over and it was embarrassing how a single look from him could elicit such a response.

"You know, I'm getting really tired of answering that question when the answer has been the same from the very beginning," he hissed, grabbing the chair in front of him and hurdling it across the room, hardly caring that it had just shattered into hundreds of splinters when it hit the wall; all sense and reason had slipped into the oblivion as his mind pulsated with a single thought – Hera.

All he saw and heard was Hera.

All he longed to feel and taste was Hera.

He was a man possessed and there was no stopping him.

"I want _you,_ damn it," he growled, suddenly just a foot or two from her. He reached out for her face and grabbed it. "I want you, and I don't know why," and he smashed his lips against hers.

Her back hit something – what it was she had no idea. Probably the back of the sofa, but all was washed away as the Count devoured her, drinking her in as if he were starving.

Hera felt herself break out in a fever all over her body, her sex throbbing to be touched, taken. But her mind rebelled. No! She wasn't going to sleep with him again!

But his kisses said otherwise as he drove harder and harder, plundering as if there were no tomorrow. His aggressiveness made the woman feverish to the point that she was shedding herself of the light jacket she had been wearing, all with the vampire's assistance. She even pushed his own jacket off and almost allowed him to peel off her shirt, but it dawned on her what she was doing and she placed both her hands on his chest, snapping open her eyes and shoving him and his sinfully delicious mouth away.

"No!" she shouted, panting desperately for air. "I'm not falling for that again!"

A powerful rumble vibrated in Dracula's chest as his eyes glowed in their sockets, his lips curving into a positively wicked grin as he licked his lips like some kind of animal.

"Falling for what?" he mused with a wolfish growl, moving his body against her hands, a menacing, ruthless seduction streaming from his eyes and burning whatever fell under his gaze.

Just before he could get too close, Hera managed to free herself from his hold and she began to back away, holding her hands out in defense as he advanced, a senseless hunger in his stare that scorched and froze all at once.

Her back hit an obliging wall and she realized she had nowhere to run.

"I'm not going to let you use me again," she insisted, although when he stopped in front of her, she felt a blast of pure, unadulterated lust.

But it all felt so wrong! He could be manipulating her again, her conscience nagged, and yet it didn't matter because the way he looked at her made her want to trust him, as foolish and illogical as the suggestion was. She couldn't help herself.

His brow was slightly cocked as a result of her previous statement and the way he was looking at her made her feel inexplicably filthy.

"I never used you like that, spitfire," he purred, his voice a low, deep rumble in his solid chest and it caused a strong shudder to run along her spine. "I meant it all… and I want to mean it all over again," but she placed her hands flat on that wall of solid chest as he tried to move closer to her, keeping him a safe distance away.

The action made his light smile turn devilish as he looked down at her hands and back up into her eyes, sensing the whirlwind of cravings swimming through her veins.

She was as starved as he.

"Why?" came the young woman's timid question as he put his weight against her, forcing her arms to bend so he could get closer to her.

She looked so beautiful in the dark, her sharp eyes ensnared, lost in his gaze. It was that vampiric influence he held over humans like Hera, and it happened whether he meant for it to or not.

"Why would you ever want me… especially like that? I… I just don't understand," and she watched as he took one of her slender fingers and began to nibble on it softly, his eyes still locked on hers.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully, with her finger barely in his mouth. "But I can't get you out of my head. You're like liquid opium, darling – and I need more of you," and he slid her finger into his mouth once more before slowly pressing it against his tongue, swirling it around the nimble digit. "I need more…"

A soft moan reverberated in his chest when she took in a sharp, high-pitched breath in an effort to keep from moaning herself.

God forgive her, everything he did made her feel achy and light-headed and she struggled with her sanity, the vampire refusing to release the finger he was so busy pleasing, sensually lapping the skin with an erotic gleam in his eyes. Reason told her to resist him, but she couldn't. So she stood there, paralyzed, lost in his eyes and the beautiful, erotic desires that were rushing beneath her skin like liquid fire.

"I... I…" she stammered, trying to think of something to say. "I don't believe you," she concluded, although her body was singing quite a different tune.

He let her finger slip from his mouth as he placed his hands on either side of her on the wall, his expression positively sinful.

"You and I both know that's not entirely true," he breathed. "You just don't want me to stop. I can see it in your eyes," and one of his hands slid over her throat, holding it.

The skin under his palm was warm, soft. Her throat was slender, and he could feel the blood racing through the veins running up from her heart—the heart that was beating wildly.

"Such a selfish woman," he taunted. "You forget, I can see inside your mind… you want me. You want me all over you, right here in this library. Just tell me what you want me to do, Hera. Say the words and I'll do whatever you want." He moved closer to her and she suddenly felt dizzy. " _Anything_. I am yours to command."

"Vlad," she whimpered when he pressed his brow against hers, lips hovering tantalizingly over her mouth as he inhaled ever breath she took. Then his hand ran down from her neck and over a single breast. "Vladislaus we can't keep doing this."

"That implies that we've done it more than once and I think I would have remembered if we had," he replied cheekily.

"You know what I mean."

"I know you want me, spitfire. I can smell it on you," and he inhaled deep before showering her neck with kisses as his firm body pressed and rubbed against hers.

"I can't do the mindless sex thing again."

"It doesn't have to be mindless," he purred, kneading the breast in his hand, relishing in every whimper and moan he could elicit from her.

"But it would be," she managed. "Being with you was… _amazing_ , and I thought I could merely function on desire, but I… I can't. It's not who I am."

"Are you sure?" the vampire whispered, eyes glowing.

She was a temptation he could not resist and though he could sense her body's calls for him, her brain was in the throes of a violent war. Eager to stop the angry buzzing in her head, he tilted his to one side and put his lips on her mouth. She gasped, drawing his breath into her lungs, taking something of him inside of her and he rumbled in satisfaction when he felt her ease into him.

Though tempted to lose himself completely, Dracula maintained control over himself, stroking her mouth gently, caressing her softly. When she swayed toward him, he traced the outside of her lips with his tongue.

"Vlad-" but before she could utter another word, his fingers fell over her lips, silencing her.

"No more thinking, Hera… no more," and he kissed her, hard and long.

What was only a matter of moments, perhaps even minutes, seemed like an eternity.

Dracula felt a strange fire flood through his body and soul as he kissed her unlike he had ever done so before. He twisted his arms around her while her arms wrapped around his neck, and the longer he kissed her, the more aware he became of foreign emotions and sensations welling inside of his chest and burning in his eyes.

This was not the lust he was accustomed to.

This was so much more powerful—pure, even, and though the Count was able to dismiss it with ease, Hera could not.

"Vladislaus," came the woman's voice as she gently pulled her head back so she could look into his eyes. "I need to tell you something." He cupped the side of her face in his hand and kissed her once more.

"Can it wait?" he asked between kisses, his lips venturing down to her neck where his mark still resided. He nuzzled it lovingly.

She was so warm, so fragile and defenseless, so trusting, so full of life.

So human.

Hera sighed dreamily as he did this, holding his head in her hands, leaning back against the wall.

"How am I supposed to say no when you're doing that?" she chuckled, melting in place as his hands ran down her sides.

"That's the whole idea," he husked, playfully biting her shoulder, electricity shooting through her body at the feel of his dull, human teeth sinking into the flesh of the pale curve, not enough to break the skin, but enough to leave little indents.

"God forgive me, I love you…" she whispered.

When the words reached his ears, he paused, pulling back slowly to look into her eyes through the shadows.

"What did you say?" he asked in hushed tones, unsure of the declaration he had just heard.

But Hera's expression said everything he needed to know and something fell a little in the pit of his stomach after she repeated herself.

"I love you, Vladislaus," she said softly. Dracula opened his mouth to respond, but she immediately covered it with her hand. "You don't need to say anything," she assured him. "I… I know the feeling isn't mutual, that you've been using me from day one. I know – you had warned me. But I can't pretend that what I feel for you is just lust and a degree of affection – because it's not," and the hand that covered his mouth fell away as she continued.

"I know I shouldn't, that my feelings will remain unrequited because of who you are, but as much as I love kissing you and being touched by you," and she blushed, "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep reading into everything you say and do, hoping that it means more than it actually does. Logically, I know that you insist on keeping up the ruse because it passes the time and it keeps me out of your enemy's hands, but the rest of my brain is still struggling to catch up. You make me feel wanted, Count. Sometimes I even feel like you really do care about me, but I'm so tired of being hurt and I'm tired of reading into things that just aren't there."

The young woman sighed a bit pathetically and the vampire watched her closely, never uttering a word, simply because her confession was so beautiful that he dare not disturb it.

This was hard for her and the fact that she had found the strength to tell him made the ice in the marrow of his bones melt. He wanted to touch those beautiful, pulsating lips of hers as she spoke, wishing to trace each word and etch them into his memory, but he remained still, paralyzed by her confession.

After allowing the truth to linger in the air between them, Hera, evidently disappointed by the assumption that the man she was falling in love with could never return her feelings, quickly brushed a tear from her eye before it could fall down her cheek and she forced herself to smile.

"I…I just wanted you to know the truth," she finally concluded. "I'm not asking for anything, but I felt like you ought to know what you're putting me through. That my feelings are much more than you've probably anticipated and I need you to understand that I'm much more fragile than you probably are."

He would have rebuked her for such a comment, but couldn't bring himself to do so. The welling tears in her lower lash line, coupled with the presumption that he could never feel the same for her were bitter pills to swallow. Just earlier, he had convinced himself that they could never love one another – yet with her admission came his inability to deny to himself that he indeed felt the same.

Suddenly, everything got more complicated and dangerous… and yet so beautifully simple.

"May I speak?" he asked, a small smile curving his lips.

Hera naturally assumed he was going to make fun of her, and in an effort to salvage what little dignity she felt she had left, she grew defensive.

"Please don't," she said, eyes diverting to the floor as a wave of humiliation washed over her. "I'd rather you didn't. I don't want you lying to me and telling me you feel the same, because that'll only hurt me later. Please, Count, just… forget I ever said it. God, I feel so stupid," and she tried to move around him, eager to escape his scrutinizing gaze, but he seized her arm, forbidding her to leave.

"Hera, please," he implored, unsure of what he would say to her if she stopped struggling. Luckily, she remained defiant and pulled her arm out of his grip.

"No, just… just forget it," and she headed toward the door, picking her jacket up off the floor and pulling it on roughly.

"Where are you going?" he called out in defeat, not even bothering to turn to face her.

"I'm going to go stay with Anna."

 _That_ got him to turn around.

"What? _Why_?"

"Because I think she needs someone right now, since she thinks her brother is dead… and… and frankly, I need to get away from you before I do something irrational."

Dracula cringed internally.

She offers him a moving confession of love only to slap all of her false conjectures and denial in his face. That woman could be so complicated sometimes. But it wasn't just denial she was feeling – oh no. She was scared. He could taste it in the air as she left the room.

Hera was running away.

She didn't want to get hurt again.

Dracula materialized out of the room and into the hall just a few yards ahead of her.

"Why are you running away from me?" he asked point blank.

"I'm not running away from anything."

"Yes you are," he stated simply as she entered one of the spare bedrooms she had been staying in to grab what few belongings she had. "You just told me you have feelings for me, and now you're leaving!"

He nearly shouted it at her, still amazed at her declaration and torn because he couldn't tell her he felt the same. She was right in that regard – he'd end up hurting her if he told her the truth. If he ever told her that he loved her, it wouldn't be a lie.

But he couldn't bear to inflict more pain on her than she had already endured.

Even though it would have been so easy for him to do it to any other woman in this situation, he didn't have the heart to do it to Hera. She meant too much to him, more than she could have even begun to imagine.

"I don't even know _why_ I told you all of that," she exhaled, so confused and embarrassed, her mind a jumble of conflicting emotions, and feelings, and thoughts. "I was… I was just caught up in the moment," and she grabbed her small sack of belongings and went to head towards the door, when he slammed it shut, blocking any and all escape routes.

"Stop running!" he pleaded with uncharacteristic passion.

His outburst surprised her and for the briefest of moments, she thought he was going to try and keep her from leaving, but the frustration in his expression ebbed away the longer he looked at her, the rigidity in his posture softening, and it made her curious.

Dracula wanted to prevent her from leaving. He wanted to lock her in this very room to be sure he wouldn't lose her, but he could not. She was not his – she didn't belong to anyone.

Hera was supposed to stay neutral and love was anything but.

Had the situation been different, had Count Dracula been a man not bound by fate, he would have told her the truth, as frightening and unnatural as that truth may have seemed to him. But he could not.

He was cursed, and with that curse came a price he just wasn't willing to pay – not when the cost could be Hera's life.

No, he thought to himself. It was better that she left now, for if she stayed, he would lose his resolve and it wouldn't matter how much he loved her and how much she loved him – the demon would get what it wanted.

In the end, the demon always got what it wanted.

Unlike Hera, Dracula's soul was not entirely his.

How he envied her freedom.

The pregnant silence between them was soon interrupted by the sound of the Count's brides calling for him from the foyer down below.

"Master! Master, where are you?"

Although immediately displeased that they had disobeyed his wishes to stay away, in that moment he was grateful for their timing, for it gave him the strength and the excuse to step to one side and let Hera leave.

She quietly moved passed him, never uttering a farewell or any further explanation.

Just silence and the light scent of her perfume hitting him in a small gust of air when she walked by. Dracula's hand twitched, eager to grab her wrist, to stop her, to pull her into his arms and kiss her one last time, but he refrained. If she believed him indifferent, it would be easier. After all, he knew in his gut that the two of them had been doomed from the very beginning.

She was a human—the hunted, the innocent prey.

He was a vampire—the predator, the villain.

That unforgiving reality was enough to keep him in check as he watched her disappear around the bend and down the stairs, leaving him to hunger after her.

Count Dracula felt the human's absence immediately and with her exit came a destruction of his peace.

The vampire ignored the calls of his brides as he made his way back to the laboratory, just in time to see Hera dash across the courtyard and into the forest from the large window on the far end of the room, feeling as though a piece of his soul had been violently torn from his body.

As the rain turned to snow, the Count closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, clinging to the memory of her confession, the tears of disappointment in her eyes, the flush of embarrassment in her cheeks.

It was for the best, he told himself; and, as his brides reminded him when they entered the room, it was time to get back to work.

He had lingered in distraction long enough.

He'd see Hera again, perhaps even during a time when he'd be in the clear and at liberty to love her as he wished to. But in the meantime, he had work to do. The man that had been creeping out day by day in Hera's presence sank back within the recesses of the vampire's body, and the monster had full reign once again.


	37. The Hunter from Rome

**And now at long last, after weeks of waiting, a certain someone will be making his grand appearance.**

 **Brace yourselves, my friends.**

 **Huge thanks to** alexc1209 **,** Scarlet Empress **,** the invisible reader **,** BeautifulCataleya **,** She-Devil Red **,** 12345678910 **,** Bloodsired **,** LostarielTuigalen **(WELCOME!),** bloodyrose2014 **,** ShadowSpade **,** AnimeFan001 **(your question had me blushing!),** Kiki's Stories of Awesomeness **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** Nyx-Arae **, and** Forbidden Moons **for reviewing chapter 36!**

 **Your feedback was flippin' AMAZING and I'm really looking forward to hearing your thoughts on today's installment. Hope you enjoy!**

 **Forgive any errors I may have missed!**

* * *

 **XXXVII**

 _ **The Hunter from Rome**_

"Hera? Hera! Wake up!" Anna called, shaking the woman's shoulder after throwing open the heavy drapes that covered the windows.

Hera groaned and made an attempt to shield her eyes from the blinding light of the sun, but the Valerious woman wrenched the covers off the bed, leaving Hera to curl into a ball and tuck her legs beneath the skirt of her nightgown. She had grown so used to living nocturnally that she had nearly forgotten what the sun looked like.

 _How utterly depressing,_ she thought to herself as she peeled her eyes open to find Anna standing near the edge of her bed.

"What is it, Anna?" Hera sighed, yawning loudly before stretching, the action followed by loud cracking noises in her joints that would have made any other individual cringe. Anna, however, was totally unfazed by it.

"It's practically noon! You've been asleep for hours!"

"So?" the woman grumbled, burying her face into the soft, feather pillow as a cool, mountain breeze blew in through the open window.

Anna laughed and snatched the pillow out from underneath Hera's head.

"So…" she teased. "So you've wasted more than half the day. Now come on!" and she grabbed hold of Hera's ankle and began to drag her off the bed. Hera chuckled, finally sitting up as she wiped the sleepiness from her face.

"Alright, alright! Let me bathe really quick and I'll be down in an hour."

"Half hour! And hurry! There's somebody I want you to meet!"

"Who on earth could I possibly need to meet that I haven't met already?" she asked sleepily, but the princess merely replied with a mischievous,

"You'll see!"

Hera sent the woman a strange look.

She had never seen Anna so… so… she couldn't even think of a word to describe the Valerious woman. She had just lost her brother not even two weeks ago and here she was, acting like some good-natured, overly happy, secretive… _girl_.

Hera waved for Anna to leave, and the gypsy princess exited out into the hall. Not even bothering to lock her door, Hera disrobed and stepped into the freestanding tub after it had been filled.

A dreamy, contented sigh escaped her lips as the hot water lapped against her naked skin and she rested her head on the edge of the tub, her hair pulled back into a loose bun with a large pin.

Anna and this mystery person of hers could wait.

Right now all Hera wanted to do was soak in this hot bath, maybe even fall back asleep? Either way, she was comfortable. The steam from the water began to fill the small bathroom, fogging up the three large windows on the far end of the chamber; one of them cracked open just a little for ventilation.

The scented oils and salts that she had put into the tub created a beautiful aroma that had been intended to act like a relaxant but became more like an aphrodisiac. As they always did when she was alone, her thoughts leisurely made their way towards Dracula. She hadn't seen the vampire king in well over a week and already she was having withdraws.

She'd daydream about him whenever she could – usually erotic fantasies, where he'd make love to her in the still of the night, or by a roaring fire on a fur rug in a library, or in the very tub in which she now bathed, but in the heat of her dreams, she could often hear Anna calling her from downstairs.

Right now was no exception.

Hera let out a groan of irritation, shoving her bleeding romances from her mind as she pulled herself out of the tub, stark naked and glistening, an irritable expression on her face.

Anna drove her positively _crazy_ sometimes!

"Alright!" Hera shouted cantankerously, yanking the large towel off of the bar on the wall as she stepped out and marched into the room, barely decent. She grumbled as she searched for some clean clothes, the towel draped over her shoulder instead of wrapped around her body as it should have been.

With an "ah-ha" she found a blouse and she threw it onto the bed with a pair of pants, finally deciding to get dry. When she was done with the towel, she tossed it across the room towards the pile of dirty laundry just as there was a knock at the door. Her "not yet" must have been misinterpreted as a "come in," because as the linen went airborne, the door to her bedroom began to open and Hera's world was suddenly moving in slow motion.

She reached out for the towel that was long gone, halfway through a "no" just as the door swung wide open and standing there was a face she had never expected to see.

Gabriel Van Helsing.

Hera screamed as his dark brown eyes fell upon her naked body and she crouched down beside the bed in an attempt to cover herself but the damage was done. From the expression on his face, the hunter had seen _every_ inch of her. Thankfully the man was quick to react, because the promptly slammed the door shut before Carl and Anna could catch up with him.

The princess could be heard on the other side out in the hall.

"What is it?"

Hera could taste Van Helsing's discomfort and embarrassment as he cleared his throat.

"I thought she said 'come in,'" he seemed to say, and when what sounded like Carl's voice joined him in the hall, he continued with a firmer, "She's not quite ready yet."

Hera's palm collided with her forehead and she groaned, burying her face into the mattress as she tried not to laugh at her misfortunes.

Great. Just about every male main character had seen her naked: Velkan, Dracula, and now Van Helsing. Who was left? Carl?

"What do you mean?" Anna asked and Hera could hear the doorknob turning and she began to panic again.

"NO!" she shouted at the door. "Don't open it!"

"Hera? What's going on in there?" Anna called as Hera hastily pulled on her clothes.

"Nothing," Van Helsing insisted. "Come along, Carl…Anna…"

Just as the company turned to leave, Hera threw open her bedroom door, fully dressed, hair still damp, and cheeks very flushed.

"What the actual hell?" she barked, attacking Van Helsing immediately. "When did 'not yet' take on the definition of 'please come barging in?'"

"I'm sorry. I didn't know that was your room," he explained as calmly as he could; the image of a nude Hera still burned in his eyes. Apparently that copper auburn hair was natural after all. "Anna was showing us where we'd be staying and I thought she pointed to this door, not the one over there. I made sure to knock first."

Hera sent him a look.

"That's no excuse!" she snapped, indifferent to the looks of shock on the other's faces. "Seriously, Gabriel, didn't your mother teach you not to just go bounding into rooms when you're in someone else's home? Or have you been living for so goddamn long, you can't even _remember_ what common courtesy is?"

Van Helsing was floored as he stood there in the hall as this dragon of a woman practically screamed at him. How did she know he couldn't remember anything? And she knew his name? His _real_ name?

"Look, I don't know who you are, or how you know my name," he began, starting to get in her face, but she cut him off, suddenly remembering Dracula's history with this man.

Anger—maybe even a degree of possessive-laced loyalty—had suddenly hijacked her system as she recalled how this very man had not only been responsible for the Count's murder, but how he had willingly succumbed to the advances of Dracula's psychotic wife, Ilona, in exchange for her life. For a supposed man of God to submit to the temptations of the flesh so easily and then to arrogantly parade around as a servant of heaven – the hypocrisy was appalling.

"That's not _all_ I know about you, _Gabriel Van Helsing_ ," she said, starting to advance, possessed with the foolish notion that she could take him. Fortunately, Anna knew otherwise.

"Hera!" the princess shouted, pushing the two apart before turning on the woman. "For heaven's sake, what has gotten into you?"

But the woman said nothing. She merely gritted her teeth behind those lips of hers as she sent Van Helsing a nasty look.

" _Hypocritical jackass_ ," she grumbled in Italian before marching back into her room and slamming the door in his face.

Anna covered her mouth in embarrassment and turned to Van Helsing who exhaled loudly.

"Is she always like that?" Carl asked. Anna sighed in embarrassed defeat.

"Would you believe me if I said no?"

The hunter from Rome let out a throaty laugh.

" _I_ wouldn't."

"I don't know what's gotten into her. Ever since she came back, she's been very testy and short-tempered. I think the Count may have done something to her, but she won't talk to me about it."

Van Helsing perked up at that comment and he watched as Anna proceeded down the stairs.

"The Count? You mean… Count Dracula?" Van Helsing called after her.

Anna nodded.

"Yes. Believe it or not, Hera is actually not from this time period. She's from the future."

"Really?" Carl asked, suddenly very interested. "How fascinating."

"Yes. She arrived here a little over a year ago. My brother, Velkan, found her. Hera knows just about everything. She knows the outcome of this war, who we are, what side we're on, how it all plays out…" and she glanced behind her to make sure Van Helsing and Carl were still following. "Dracula has been trying to pull her onto his side for months now. It's been an uphill battle, trying to at least keep her neutral."

"Why would Dracula want her?" Van Helsing asked. "Seems more trouble than she's worth. Wouldn't it just make more sense to kill her and be done with it?"

"Not that we're not grateful for your sake that she still lives," Carl quickly tacked on. "Although I suppose it makes sense that he's kept her alive. It's risky, but it'd be a great tactical advantage for Dracula if he did in fact change her loyalties. Because if she's from the future, that means she knows how to defeat his enemies, who wins; and if it isn't him who is meant to succeed, then with her help he can change the future."

"If he could manage to get that truth out of her," Anna interjected. "Hera's lips have been pretty sealed since her arrival."

"Still, the poor girl must be under a lot of pressure, being used by both sides. Must make it difficult to know who to trust," the friar added with great sympathy.

"Well, my brother sacrificed a great deal to persuade Hera to join our side, until Dracula got to her," Anna explained. "She lived in Castle Dracula for seven months and shortly after her return back here, she disappeared, no one knows where. Velkan was convinced she had run to the Count, had joined his forces. He told me the vampire had marked her. Hera won't talk about where she was, what was done to her, or what she's been up to for the last few weeks. But she insists that she's still neutral. Honestly I don't know what to believe anymore."

"I can see why," Van Helsing grumbled, watching as Anna turned a corner and proceeded to open a door that led to a very impressive armory.

It was time to change the subject.

"So, how did you get here?" the princess asked.

"We came by sea," Carl began.

Anna glanced back at him with uncharacteristic curiosity.

"Really? The sea? The Adriatic Sea?" but she then seemed to catch herself in her enthusiasm, instantly reasserting her iron control.

Van Helsing could see that she wanted information from them, just as he had tried to pry some from her moments ago, but she also needed to show them that she was in charge, which explained why she had purposely brought them to this room to talk.

"Where do I find Dracula?" he asked, deciding to get down to business.

"He used to live in this very house, four centuries ago, but no one knows where he lives now," Anna began.

* * *

Hera remained in her room for a good hour or so before deciding she was hungry and couldn't avoid Van Helsing any longer. She slipped out into the hall as quietly as was humanly possible, hoping and praying the entire way down that the hunter would be anywhere else but where she was headed.

Alas, the powers that be had other plans and much to her chagrin, seated at the head of the table facing the direction of the door was the Roman himself. Hera nearly spun around on her heel to head back upstairs, but the grumbling of her stomach told her to stop being so petty.

She made her way into the room with her head held high and her eyes anywhere but on him as she sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the table, filling an empty plate with some food. Van Helsing's gaze lingered on her a degree longer than Hera would have preferred and his scrutinizing made her self-conscious, putting her on the defensive.

"You know, it's not polite to stare," she commented before leaning back in her seat and taking a sip of wine.

He never responded to her comment, instead remaining utterly impassive, continuing in his open sizing-up of her from a distance. After enduring this treatment for an additional thirty seconds, Hera had finally had enough as she slammed her palm down onto the table, creating a loud smacking noise as she sent him a vicious look.

Evidently her frustration amused him.

"I don't get it," he finally said, folding a piece of bread around some cheese.

"Don't get what?" she asked irritably, relieved when he finally looked away from her, even if it was for a grand total of five seconds.

"Anna said he marked you."

"Who? Dracula?"

"Yes."

"And where exactly were you hoping to go with this line of conversation?"

The hunter chuckled as he stood from his seat at the other end of the table and moved to sit closer to her – but not too close.

"I apologize again for intruding on your privacy earlier," he said. "I assume the lingering mortification is the reason for your hostility."

"You'd be right," Hera admitted, relaxing a little. "But my humiliation aside, I also don't particularly care for the way you're judging me with your eyes. Please stop making assumptions about my character when you've barely sat in my presence for more than five minutes."

"Says the woman who called me a hypocrite barely an hour ago."

Hera smiled, eyes diverting down in embarrassment.

"Touché, although I think it's safe to say I know more about you than you do about me."

"That'd be impressive, considering we've never met before." Van Helsing paused, his gaze still scrutinizing. "I still find it odd."

"What?"

"That Dracula marked you and yet I can't seem to…"

"Sense any evil in me?" she finished.

His surprise was genuine.

"How did you…"

"Like I said – I know a great deal about you," she began. "Alas, much of what I do know is the one-sided view of a man you can't even remember," and she started to stab at the food on her plate, her thoughts diverting to the Count… again. "You can't remember who you are, what your past is, but you possess a special gift," and she looked up into his eyes.

Her sharp gaze struck a chord in the hunter and he caught himself leaning forward a little.

"Your life, your job, your curse is to vanquish evil. You can _sense_ evil. And despite my admittedly poor temper and the mark on my neck, evil may stalk my shadow, but you know evil does not rule me."

"But it's clear you're not on the side of the Valerious family, either. Not entirely anyway," he commented with a smile before becoming serious again. "In truth, I can't really sense much of anything in you in regards to your allegiances. You truly are neutral in all of this."

"Despite everything that has happened, yes. I choose to be neutral in this," and she stared back down at the food on her plate. "Used by all and loved by none. All I'm viewed as is an asset, a valuable piece on a chess board and nothing more."

Van Helsing exhaled loudly.

"Believe it or not, I have a vague idea of what you're talking about. I've felt similarly with the Knights of the Holy Order."

Hera smiled at him, leaning forward in her seat so she could rest on her folded arms as she conversed with him. In that moment, she found herself forgiving him for walking in on her earlier that afternoon, and even for the wrongs he had committed in life and could not remember.

"I'm sure," was her response, and she offered a sympathetic sigh. "It must be hard for you..."

"What?"

"Having the job you have. To the world who knows of the evil's that reside, Dracula could be nothing more than a monster—an evil that must be vanquished." She leaned in a little closer now, looking deeper into his gaze. "But you'll be there, Gabriel, when he dies. And you'll become the man he once was, disappointed and alone, with no one to truly blame but yourself. The question is, will you let it drive you to madness or will you defeat it?"

The hunter shifted uncomfortably in his seat before cocking a suspicious brow.

"What are you? Some sort of oracle or prophetess?"

Hera laughed.

"No, Mr. Van Helsing," she said. "I am no fortune-teller. I'm just observant. I have a habit of drawing parallels between the past and the future. Haven't you heard the saying that those who do not know the past are doomed to repeat it?"

"I try not to dwell on the past. Some things are better left forgotten."

Hera's smile faded when he said that.

Ignorance may be bliss, but that was no excuse to wallow in it.

This man needed a mentality adjustment, but she figured she wasn't the one to give it to him, so she remained silent on the matter and started to eat her food again.

"So tell me," Van Helsing continued, not exactly a fan of tense and prolonged silences, "Anna mentioned that certain information you _know,_ I suppose, yet fate or God – whichever it is – something is keeping you from revealing the truth. Is there anything you _can_ tell me?"

"What? Was Anna's information not good enough for you?" Hera asked smartly.

"I'm trying to get as much of the details as I can."

"So Cardinal Jinnette didn't properly fill you in, then," she interpreted.

Van Helsing shifted uncomfortably in his seat once more.

"Forgive me, but it's really unnerving how you know everything."

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it. What do you want to know?"

"Anything and everything you can tell me."

"That's a very broad request," she replied. "But before I even attempt to do that, I must inform you, Mr. Van Helsing – I'm not on your side. Nor am I on the Count's" ... _in entirety_ , her conscience nagged... "So don't get bent out of shape if I don't help you in the way you want me to."

"You mean if Dracula has us by the throats, you'll refuse to intervene?" he inquired with sudden frigidity.

The woman just smiled.

"For starters, if that indeed _does_ happen, which is doubtful, I would not let him kill you."

"You hold that much of a sway over him?"

"Perhaps not – but he knows me, as I know him. If I could guarantee his safety from you, I do believe he would release you."

"That could be difficult, as I'm here to kill him."

"Then I guess you're on your own."

"How do I know you won't sell us out to Dracula, anyway? He's marked you. Naturally he must have some sort of control over you. For all I know, you could be his spy."

It would appear one of Gabriel Van Helsing's hidden talents was pushing buttons and he seemed to know exactly where Hera's were located. She sent him a disapproving look.

"Some unsolicited advice, _Gabriel_ ," she bit icily, standing from her seat. "If you want to earn a person's trust and loyalty, it would be best if you worked on your people skills. Being suspicious of everyone, not to mention rendering your _host_ unconscious, isn't exactly a start I'd recommend," and she turned to exit, but he beat her to the door before she could escape.

"Where are you running off to? You're supposed to tell me about Dracula."

She tried to shove him out of the way, but he wouldn't budge.

"I've changed my mind," she snapped. "You want to kill the vampire, by all means, go ahead and try! Make your feeble attempt! I'll have no part in it!" and she placed both her hands on his solid chest and tried to shove him out of the way, but he held onto the frame of the doorway to keep from moving.

"Where are you going?"

"Anywhere where your self-righteous ass isn't within a mile radius of me!" and she punched him in the chest, getting him to stumble back slightly.

"Look Hera, my ass is none of your business, and as long as I'm here, you're not going anywhere!"

"Who made you the boss of me?" she challenged, shoving him with all her might.

He finally stumbled out of the doorway and collided with the wall. Van Helsing watched as Hera began to make her way toward the front door.

"If you haven't heard, I happened to kill one of Dracula's brides this morning, which means the Count isn't going to be in a very good mood," he called out.

Hera froze.

She had forgotten – with Van Helsing's arrival meant Marishka's death.

Her heart fell at the realization, the sudden onslaught of grief and disappointment quickly fueling her anger. She turned around to face him, masking her sorrow with irritation.

"Dracula sleeps the day away," she insisted, struggling to distract herself with the present instead of dwelling on Marishka's passing, but all she could think about was the blonde-haired bride – her liveliness and profound fascination with the music of the future.

A future she would never get to experience firsthand.

This fact felt like a small dagger in the center of Hera's chest and Van Helsing's apparent indifference to the murder of this stranger he didn't even know rubbed her the wrong way. For all of Marishka's faults, she was no monster. Not at her core.

"I've spent more than seven months living with that man," Hera continued, pushing her feelings aside as an irrational fury clouded her judgment. "Dracula's not going to take you murdering one of his brides out on me. If there's anyone's skin you should be worrying about, it's your own!"

"But his brides..."

"Are under strict instructions to not raise a single malicious finger against me!" she shot. "Besides, I have no quarrel with them, and even if I did, I could take them."

The hunter laughed.

"I'd pay good money to see that!" he exclaimed, his tone spiced with ridicule.

"If I remember correctly, Marishka nearly got the better of you today!"

He got defensive.

"What would you know!? You weren't even there!"

"You did one hell of a job keeping Anna safe, too! Did you happen to know that Verona and Aleera had her cornered and by the throat? And what were you doing? Playing with the blonde?! Staring down her top?! Fantasizing about making wild and sinful love to her, maybe? Sheesh, when was the last time you got laid?"

Van Helsing let his temper get the better of him now.

"I was doing my job!" he shouted. "I killed the succubus and Anna is still alive, no thanks to you!"

 _Curious,_ Hera thought absentmindedly. _He didn't deny anything._

Annoyed and in dire need of some solitude, she turned to leave, but the hunter grabbed her by the arm, yanking her away from the exit.

"Oh no you don't! You aren't going anywhere!"

"Let me go!" she barked, struggling against his hold as he started to drag her away from the foyer.

"You're not running to Dracula and that's final!" and he hurdled her up the stairs and then hauled her down the corridor toward her room, ignoring the puzzled expression on Carl's face when he appeared, eager to see what all the commotion was about.

"Who said I was going to?" she challenged.

"I'm not stupid, Hera. He marked you and I think you've taken a liking to that monster! Anna agrees with me. Your sympathies towards that demon are unnatural," and he threw open her door.

"He's not a monster!" Hera shot defensively. "You don't even _know_ him!"

"See? You're already defending him! That's it!" the man proclaimed, shoving her into her bedroom. "You're not leaving, and I don't care if I have to chain you to the bed, by God, I'll do it! You're too valuable of an asset and I'm not letting him have you! If no one can have your full allegiance, you're better off out of everyone's way!" and he slammed the door in her face when she advanced towards it.

Hera kicked at the barrier between her room and freedom angrily, letting out a frustrated scream when she found it was locked.

"Van Helsing, open this door right now!" she hollered, pounding her hand against the door.

"Not happening!" he shouted from the other side.

"You _bastard_! I swear, I'll get even with you!"

She could hear him laughing out in the hall and it only incensed her further.

"That's kind of hard when you're LOCKED IN YOUR ROOM!" he taunted.

Hera spat out a flood of curses at him, worked up beyond what was characteristic for her. She had no idea what it was about this man that made her so quick to anger, but she was all violence and swearing as he stalked away, telling Carl not to open that door for anything. When she could no longer hear the hunter's voice or the treading of his thick boots, she slumped against the door and sank to the ground in defeat, tucking her legs close and wrapping her arms around her knees.

The woman grumbled a handful of colorful oaths as her temper gradually cooled, soon surrendering to the fact that she was stuck here for the time being. Van Helsing clearly had no intentions of cutting her loose. Maybe she could convince Carl to let her out when Anna and Van Helsing left to chase down Velkan?

Hera glanced out at the window and sighed, the sun still high in the sky. It would be a good few hours before Anna would even awaken. So in an effort to kill time, she moved to sit beside one of the windows, snatching her iPod from underneath her pillow.

And then she waited.

* * *

It was close to twilight—that time when evening creeps in just as the sun slips beneath the horizon. The sky was a myriad of dark colors, all of them swirling into one as the moon hung majestically in the sky. The clouds above were streaked in twinges of pink and purple hues, and despite the magnificence of the sunset, Hera was missing it.

She was fast asleep beside the window, a playlist of dark string music playing on her iPod, the mildly seductive compositions having lulled her into a state of unconsciousness.

A pair of vigilant, turquoise colored eyes observed the slumbering mortal from outside, the woman's long, dark hair blowing gently in her face as her hand rested elegantly against the outside wall, her breath creating no fog on the cool glass, her fingertips leaving no marks or prints.

Why did her master insist that she put herself in harm's way to bring Hera to him?

Especially after what had happened to Marishka just this morning?

Aleera in particular couldn't seem to understand, but Verona had her suspicions, although they were yet to be confirmed. Her master was unpredictable at times—unreadable. Sometimes, he would get these strange whims and usually, after a time, they'd pass, soon forgotten.

But Hera, the mortal?

That was a whim that had been lingering for months now with no sign of passing.

A twinge of disappointment, admiration, and a faint degree of envy swam through Verona's veins as she watched the human, safely kept inside the Valerious manor. Sorrow for the loss of Marishka still stung bitterly in the dead heart of the Count's eldest bride. Although she and the late Marishka had had their differences, they were still sisters of circumstance, and things would never be the same without her.

Her master's anguish had been fleeting, however, and she was pained to hear him suggest the siring of a replacement for her sister. She just hoped he wasn't serious and she hoped even more that Hera wasn't the candidate he was considering – although if she had to choose between living an eternity with either Hera or Aleera, the choice would be an easy one.

Verona's mind eventually returned to the task that she had been sent to accomplish and with a conceding sigh, she gently tapped on the window with the tips of her nails. It took a few tries, but Hera finally began to stir, the mortal groaning quietly as she opened her eyes, popping her aching neck before turning her attention to the source of the noise.

The human's eyes widened in surprise at the site of Verona sitting behind the cool glass. Without a moment of hesitation, she opened the window.

"Verona? What the hell are you doing here? It's not safe…" Hera began.

Although her relationship with Dracula's brides had become strained at best, the news of Marishka's destruction had stung in Hera's easily swayed heart. There had been moments where she had genuinely enjoyed the company of Dracula's two eldest brides over the last year, and despite their present differences, she was still relatively fond of them.

"My master sent me here with a message," Verona began, but Hera interrupted her.

"He sent you out here? _Alone_?" the woman exclaimed. "Is he _trying_ to kill you three off or something? The hunter is downstairs!"

Verona, clearly offended by that remark, although suspicious herself, sent the human a look.

"He would never do such a thing!" she hissed softly. "He trusts our strength… and I am not alone. Velkan is with me, although his task is somewhat different."

"What? What is Velkan doing here? I thought…" but she stopped in mid-sentence, suddenly remembering the fate that her previous lover had met.

"Oh, that's why," she said, mostly to herself.

"My master has asked me to inform you of Marishka's death, which, apparently you already know about…"

Hera reached out and touched Verona's gently quivering hand. The woman was still unnerved by the fact that her sister was gone, and the human sympathized.

"It was meant to happen, Verona," Hera explained knowingly and with as much compassion as she could offer. She knew what it was like to lose a loved one. "Her blood is not on your hands."

"That is beside the point," Verona insisted, deciding to get on with it, pushing her own feelings of sorrow aside—just as her master did. It became evident to Hera that perhaps the Count had transferred traits and flaws onto his brides when he had turned them. _Why am I not surprised_ , the human mused to herself as the vampire continued. "My master requests that you come with me to Castle Frankenstein to stay under his protection."

"Why would I need his protection?"

"He fears that if this hunter discovers he marked you," and Verona said this with a great amount of disapproval, "that the hunter will attempt to kill you."

"He already knows," Hera explained. "Anna told him. He won't hurt me, anyway. He's opted for the house-arrest option instead."

"Well, I'd advise you come with me at once," Verona insisted, extending her hand towards the woman as she perched herself on the edge of the terrace. "In case the hunter decides he has a taste for murdering women."

Hera obeyed the command she had been given, assuming that this was her one chance out of this godforsaken room. She quickly snatched her coat and shoving her iPod into her pocket, she moved out onto the terrace.

Verona was suspended in a crouched position, staring down, her eyes scanning about the perimeter of the manor.

Hera instinctively followed the vampire's gaze and noticed that she was watching Velkan climb into the armory window in his wolf form. The thing was, Verona wasn't watching him go in – she was staring at him in a different way, a peculiar look in her eyes.

"Verona? Is everything alright?" Hera called, breaking the spell.

The eldest bride shook off whatever it was she had been feeling, reaching out to grab the mortal's hand, not even bothering to answer the question or ask for cooperation. With a rough jerk, Hera was thrown off the terrace, falling towards the earth. Before she could hit the ground, she felt a pair of large, clawed hands grab her by the wrists, her body swooping above the trees and over the darkened Visceria.

The women never said anything to each other as they flew over the village towards the ominous Castle Frankenstein, the sun hidden behind the mountains.

Hera couldn't suppress the sudden overwhelming sense of apprehension that washed over her as the castle drew nearer. She knew what was to transpire this evening, what was to come to pass. The question was—could she stay completely neutral as the events unfolded?

Van Helsing had clearly sensed the struggle within the woman earlier that afternoon, and when he opened her bedroom door a little later in the evening to find the window open and Hera missing, he naturally assumed the worse.

"Where did she go?" Carl asked, glancing around the hunter's body to see the empty room.

Van Helsing he marched into Hera's bedchamber just to be sure she wasn't hiding.

"Dracula must have her," he finally concluded, standing beside the open window and picking up a long, dark hair that had been trapped on the flowing drape.

It was Verona's.

He held it up for Carl to see.

"Who did we meet today with long, straight black hair?"

Carl's eyes widened when he recalled.

"One of the Count's brides."

"Exactly."

"Do you think she kidnapped Hera?"

"I don't know, Carl... " And he let the strand slip from his fingers and into the wind. "But I'm beginning to wonder if we can even trust her. There's no sign of a struggle. For all we know, she could be too tangled in the Count's web to even realize he's manipulating her."

"What do we do?"

A gunshot shattered the temporary silence and Van Helsing quickly ran out of the room, followed by the friar.

"What was that? That sounded like it came from the armory."

"Anna… "

* * *

 **So - was Hera and Van Helsing's first meeting everything you hoped it would be? Or were you expecting something else? If so, what? What did you like? What do you think could be improved on? Would love to hear your thoughts! Thank you for stopping by to read! I'll see you all tomorrow in the next chapter.**

 **\- T**


	38. Reunited

**Thank you to** alexc1209 **,** Madam Silver **,** Guest **,** the invisible reader **,** She-Devil Red **,** Scarlet Empress **,** Kiriari **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** Bloodsired **,** RegencyPoet **(*HUGS*),** Kiki's Stories of Awesomeness **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** TendernessOfTheHeart **,** 12345678910 **,** AnimeFan001 **,** ShadowSpade **, and** Guest **for reviewing chapter 37! Keep being awesome, you guys! You are seriously the reason why I'm staying motivated right now and keeping on track as I have been.**

 **Now then, as the chapter title suggests, Hera and the Count will be reunited in this chapter. Has the time away changed things between them? Read on to find out! ;)**

* * *

 **XXXVIII**

 _ **Reunited**_

Hera watched as the ground grew closer, Verona slowly lowering the human down onto her feet before landing herself at the front door to Castle Frankenstein. The vampire didn't wait as she made her way inside directly, the human following close behind.

"The master is upstairs in the laboratory," Verona explained. "He has requested that no one disturb him."

"Then where am I supposed to go?" Hera asked with a hint of aggravation. Verona was behaving rather cold all of a sudden – unaccountably so.

"Anywhere but the laboratory or outside," was the bride's careless reply as she moved toward a hall where the human noticed Aleera standing, waiting for her sister. "I've done my duty. You're on your own," and then the two vampires disappeared around the corner.

"What else is new?" Hera grumbled to herself as soon as the brides were out of earshot.

Naturally, Hera ignored Verona's advice, making her way towards the laboratory. It had been nearly two weeks since she had seen the Count last and against her better judgment, she was aching to see him; his insistence on remaining undisturbed be damned.

* * *

"Igor!" Dracula shouted as he folded his arms beneath his chest, pacing along the rafters up above while looking down at his life-long dream now on the verge of reality.

"Yes master?"

"How long before we are ready?" he asked.

"Soon, master, very soon," the servant assured him, scurrying about the laboratory floor like some sort of rat. "It is difficult without the good doctor," he added, a hint of complaining in his tone, but he quickly collected himself when he noticed the nasty look the Count sent him. "But the Dwergi, they are doing well, no?" and he shoved one of the short, demon-spawned creatures out of the way and pulled down a lever, turning on another dynamo.

"Good," Dracula breathed, watching his minions for a second or two longer before diverting his attention elsewhere.

He had sent Verona out at least an hour ago, and still no sign of her or Hera. Perhaps the worst had indeed happened? Perhaps this stranger had killed her? He could feel panic creeping its way into his system as he continued to walk along the rafters—anxious, nervous, and for a million different reasons.

He'd slaughter both the hunter _and_ Anna if Hera had been harmed, starting with this stranger who had destroyed Marishka.

 _Calm down, Vladislaus_ he told himself. _Hera is fine… you would have sensed it if it were otherwise_.

With a deep, calming breath, his temper cooled and he allowed his arms to hang at his sides as he continued to walk, drumming his fingers along the railings, struggling to distract himself with the task at hand.

After at least thirty seconds of this, his patience abruptly vanished and he turned to make his way toward the exit.

Verona had taken long enough to bring Hera back!

He quickly materialized down to the floor and made his way over to the door when it opened, not at his will, but at the will of another.

Relief flooded his system as Hera came into view, her heartbeat overwhelming him to the point where he could practically feel it beating in his own chest, her scent filling his lungs and setting fire to his veins.

The Count briefly wondered why he hadn't detected her before, but dismissed it when he realized how wrapped up in his concern he had been. Dracula exhaled her name, the syllables coming out in a rush as the two of them advanced toward one another without even consciously thinking about it.

He itched to reach out, to touch her face, to pull her into his arms. Hell, he longed to do _much_ more than that, but he resisted, even when the temptation intensified as a small smile curved her lovely mouth.

"Good evening, Count."

He wanted to sigh.

Never had a voice sounded more beautiful to him - it was living almost two weeks without it that did that to him. But he remained the picture of composure, never allowing the woman the slightest inclination as to the effect she was having on him. Not that it mattered—his mouth started running away from him.

"When did you get here?" was all he could think to say.

"Just now."

"I was just on my way to see if you had gotten here," he answered lamely, mentally chastising himself for his lack of eloquence. He'd try again: "I sent Verona to fetch you over an hour ago."

He silently reprimanded himself once more, this time for being so blatantly concerned. His conscience screamed at him:

 _Why are you acting so bloody out of character? Get it together, Vladislaus!_

Hera's smile broadened and it grew more mischievous as Dracula continued to fumble with the façade he had been so determined to place in front of her—that mask of apathy.

"Oh? Well, out of curiosity, why were you so worried about whether or not I had arrived?" came the woman's mildly flirtatious query.

Dracula had never been so grateful that he couldn't blush in his life - otherwise it would have given him away completely.

"No reason," was his careless reply, his hands casually behind his back. "Just… _curiosity_ ," and he turned around, heading deep into the maze of machinery as if in retreat, but Hera followed close behind.

"Oh really?" she asked, evidently unconvinced. "Did you _miss_ me, Count?" she teased, playfulness in her voice. When he wouldn't look at her, she got suspicious. And when he picked up a nameless tool and studied it, her suspicions were confirmed. "You did, didn't you?" she laughed. "Dracula, I'm blushing."

He sent her a look.

"Miss Garret, how many times I must I tell you – you need to stop attempting to flatter yourself. It's most unbecoming. Honestly, when will you desist?"

She chuckled wickedly, quickly moving in front of him, blocking his path. She hadn't been in this good of a mood in days! This man, although infuriating at times, could be infectious, and in ways Hera never would have expected.

Being around him, when he was himself and not the monstrous demon that everyone else saw, she felt giddy, excited, flirtatious… important. And when he touched her, or would stare at her for long periods of time when he thought she wasn't looking, she felt beautiful.

He was the only man who could make her truly feel that way – who could make her not only believe, but _know_. Whether or not he meant it, there were times where she didn't care.

The lie was always beautiful, if it was indeed a lie.

"I'll stop flattering myself when you take the initiative and do it for me."

Hera stopped in her tracks after the words left her mouth, not entirely certain why she had said them or where such blatant flirtatiousness even came from. Dracula had stopped too, turning around slowly so he could look at her, a very puzzled, yet amused look in his eyes.

"What did you say?" he inquired, wondering if his ears had deceived him.

The woman blushed deeply and turned around to make her escape.

"Nothing!" came the denial, and in a much higher-pitched tone than intended. "I'll be in the library." But before she could withdraw, he moved forward and grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop, encouraging her to face him.

"I've never seen you so eager for my attention, spitfire," he teased. "What? Did the princess neglect you?"

"Oh, please," she laughed, pushing her hands against his chest in a futile effort to create space between them when he wrapped his arm around her waist.

"I think you're the one that missed _me_ , Miss Garret. Come, admit it."

"I will admit to no such thing," she proclaimed, though it was clear by the look in her eyes that what he had said was true.

Using his heightened senses to make sure no one was within ear shot of them, he lifted his other hand and sank his fingers into the luxuriant mass of her hair, twisting the copper locks around his fingers before gently tugging the roots, forcing her head back as his other arm tightened around her so she was pressed against him.

"There's no need to be ashamed," he mused, leaning in slowly. "I missed you as well."

Hera knew exactly what was about to happen and she immediately responded when his lips collided with hers, his pace very leisurely and slow, as if he were savoring her.

She melted into his kisses, submitting to him with an ease that surprised even herself as she slide her hands up the front of his chest, inching towards his face. But then he snatched her wrists to prevent her from touching him further and he pulled away for just a moment so he could catch her reaction.

Her eyes were a beautiful combination of heady lust and utter frustration as her eyebrows furrowed.

"Why do you _always_ do that?" came the aggravated inquiry.

He chuckled darkly.

"It's a control thing."

"Like hell it is!" she exclaimed. "Be glad my strength doesn't match yours, or I'd do the same thing to you!" and she had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from whimpering when his impassioned mouth found its way over her jaw and down her neck. "You are such an ass."

He laughed this time.

"My dear, even if you could somehow outmatch my strength, you'd lack the will. You'd want me to touch you," and he placed a meaningful kiss on her open palm.

"Are you like this with every woman you meet?" she asked curiously.

"I certainly don't allow any of them to be as forward as I allow you. I'm very lenient with you, spitfire and you are _most_ ungrateful," he added teasingly.

"Count, you are an absolute degenerate!" she proclaimed, surprisingly earning another round of laughter from the vampire.

"Yet despite the varying degrees of virtue in _all_ the women I have ever met… they all love that aspect of me."

"Oh really? Women like the fact that you're a womanizer? The lover of lovers, true to none except yourself?"

"A flaw in my character that I embrace whole-heartedly," he admitted without as much as a hint of degradation or care as he released Hera from his hold, motioning towards the charred remains of Victor Frankenstein's notes on the desk behind them. "Now then, I have work to do. So you finish these up, since you're better at deciphering them than I..."

"Oh! He even admits it," she laughed, but he ignored her comment.

"And stay out of trouble," he added.

"I think I can manage that," and she took a seat in his chair. Dracula then left her to work, returning to his overseeing of the matters at hand and though he'd never admit it aloud, having Hera with him once more soothed his mind in ways nothing else could.

* * *

The wolf raced through the blackened forest as the torrential downpour ceased, transforming into a bitterly chilling snow. The light of the full moon seemed to burn into his very skull. Velkan had been shoved deep into the subconscious of the werewolf's mind, but was allowed some reign when a light, familiar scent caught his attention.

He stopped in his tracks for just a moment, figuring his sister and the hunter were too far behind; besides, he knew this smell. The wolf inhaled in deeply, his ribs surging with the power of his breath as the scent connected to a memory in his mind and a face appeared.

 _Hera._

That's whose scent it was. He breathed it in more deeply as he continued onward to his master's present domain, the human's fragrance growing stronger with each step.

Velkan easily scaled the walls of Castle Frankenstein, only to throw himself over the edge as he used his new powers and agility to climb into the laboratory within one of the towers, covered from floor to ceiling, wall to wall with scientific horrors, all organized in the fashion of an obsessive general.

Velkan internally cursed as he took note of this _general_ , his master, standing just a few yards ahead of him. He growled viciously and for a split moment in time, he was ready to pounce forward and tear the vampire's throat out with his teeth, but two factors kept him from acting thus: his master's will was always bent against his own, always the more superior. And the second—this place reeked of Hera, and the mere suggestion of her presence made the man within the wolf weak as he fell to the ground, finally out of sight and power of Diana and her sway.

He could feel the wolf melting away and he let out a scream that came out more like a roar as he began to tear at his own flesh, maddened by the beast and the painful change.

The Count sighed apathetically, never putting his full attention on his newest slave.

"Werewolves are such a nuisance during their first full moon," he drawled, immediately recalling the brief thought of rebellion the gypsy prince had just had. "So hard to control."

His voice was drowned out by the cries of Velkan's transformation as he tore profusely at the fur that once covered his body, shifting back into human form. He was so exhausted when the change was complete that he remained on the cold ground, shaking as his body attempted to recover from the breathtaking pain.

The footfall of the Count reached his ears.

"I send you on a simple errand to find out who our new visitor is, and you have to stop for a little chat with your sister," the vampire sneered, stepping over the weakened man.

Velkan could feel Dracula in his head, commanding him to stand and follow. Any thoughts of defiance were squashed and soon the prince's trembling limbs were moving as he struggled to push himself to his feet, having to hold onto the surrounding machinery for support.

"Leave her out of this, Count," Velkan panted. "She doesn't know your secret and I am soon to take it to my grave," and the prince followed the vampire through the laboratory, not knowing why he allowed his feet to carry him. He'd much rather just lay on that floor and recover, but it would appear his new master had different plans.

"Do not wish for death so quickly," the Count insisted. "I actually intend for you to be quite useful."

 _What? Like Hera?_ Velkan asked the Count through his mind. _Is she to replace Marishka?_

Dracula flashed the gypsy prince a dangerous look, but he mastered his temper with unnerving skill, his malevolent glare soon replaced with an eerie smile.

 _Perhaps_ , and he moved forward, deciding not to show his reproach.

It was a sign of weakness, permitting the prince to vex him so easily, allowing him to know that Hera was indeed a weak spot.

His _only_ weak spot.

"I'd rather die than help you," Velkan challenged aloud this time, unaware that the Count and his minions were not his only audience.

"Oh, don't be boring. Everyone who says that dies," Dracula drawled with excessive boredom. "Besides, after the final stroke of midnight, you will have no choice but to obey me."

The Dwergi hurdled what appeared to be a charred corpse onto the floor in front of the gypsy prince who was temporarily unfazed by the action until the Count asked him to take a closer look.

It was Boris, his father.

Velkan's heart plummeted as he realized what this monster had done to his father and his despair turned into unspeakable rage as the wolf inside of him urged him to strike back. Velkan whirled around to attack the Count, but the vampire caught him with two fingers beneath his chin, hissing threats into his face.

"He proved useless, but I'm hoping, with werewolf venom running through your veins, you may be of greater _benefit!_ "

Hera, who had been watching the two men from a distance, expected the Count to push Velkan back onto the table. But instead, the vampire suddenly grabbed the prince by the throat and got dangerously close to his face.

" _The woman is mine! She was always mine, Velkan, and you will never have her_ ," Dracula whispered so only the prince could hear, the words uttered in his native tongue as that instinctual possessiveness coursed violently through his veins.

Hera never realize that the Count had in fact said anything, due to the roar of the leviathan of machinery surrounding her. But seeing the gypsy prince in danger, the old flame she had felt for Velkan sparked at the sight and she advanced with every intent to intervene. But then she caught herself in mid-step when she saw the vampire's grip loosen around his counterpart's neck.

" _She is mine_ ," he repeated once more for emphasis.

Dracula towered over Velkan and the prince was momentarily lost in the vampire's shadow, eyes daring to hold the Count's authoritative stare as he witnessed the darkening in those blue depths.

Memories of the night Dracula had watched the once mortal Velkan experience the love and passion that the Count now _knew_ Hera could create flashed through his mind's eye and his entire body hardened as rage-laced jealousy made him temporarily homicidal.

In that moment, nothing would have given Count Dracula greater pleasure than to kill Velkan Valerious. He wanted to torment him, to make the prince suffer – and then he could end him. It would be so easy too, to snap his neck in half; like breaking a toothpick.

No one would touch what was his ever again!

 _No one!_

He vowed this repeatedly in his mind as his conscious thoughts bounced back and forth between himself perched outside a window looking in at Hera and Velkan, to the one beautiful night he had shared with her.

Before he could lose himself to the temporary bout of insanity, he schooled his possessive nature and shoved Velkan onto the platform, watching with a cold satisfaction as his minions strapped the prince down. Dracula pointed a menacing finger at the prince before taking his leave.

" _Mine_ ," he swore, his eyes flaring with fire. He then turned and stalked away, unable to bear the sight of the human any longer.

As soon as the Dwergi had completed their task, they left the prince alone on the platform. Velkan couldn't seem to tear his gaze from the charred corpse of his father, tears prickling in his eyes as he sensed the presence of another—the familiar presence that had drawn him here earlier.

"Did you know about this?" he challenged the shadows.

Hera knew he was talking to her.

His new heightened senses had picked up on her scent ages ago. But she didn't want to answer… she didn't have the heart to.

"Did you tell him where to find my father? _Did you_?" the prince demanded. When she didn't respond, he growled angrily, the monster temporarily hijacking Velkan's brain and riding the waves of his temper. "Answer me, you bitch!" he shouted, his head snapping into her direction, startling her.

The beast within him eventually grew silent as the young woman came into view, moving with noted caution towards him, eyes bravely locked on his. There was something about her presence, the look in her eyes – it soothed his raging soul and a warm sense of serenity washed over him from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. It was as if her very person dispelled the chill in the room and Velkan found himself ensnared.

The lights in the room were left to dimly radiate off the woman in a mysterious glow that – for just a moment – made her seem ethereal and not of this world. When she finally closed the space between them, he found he could not stay angry with her.

"I didn't tell the Count anything," Hera said softly. "I tried to tell your father before he left, but I wasn't able to. I couldn't save him, Velkan, though believe me, I wanted to. But this was supposed to happen. Boris was meant to die in this way, and you were meant to serve the Count in this fashion. It's Fate, Velkan. I had nothing to do with it."

Velkan wanted to dismiss her, to accuse her of lying to him in an effort to appease her own conscience, but something in his gut told him she was telling the truth.

Perhaps it was the evident pain in her eyes as she stood beside him, or maybe it was the gentle caress of the back of her fingers against his rough, unshaven face. Her remaining hand had taken his, and she squeezed it reassuringly while continuing to hold his gaze.

She had always been so gentle, he thought to himself. So trusting. So forgiving…

"I'm sorry you must endure this alone, and for the suffering and inconvenience I've caused you."

Velkan let out a throaty laugh.

"Why are you apologizing to me, Hera?" he asked face. "If anyone should be apologizing, I should be. I have behaved abominably. I betrayed your trust. I broke your heart."

He swallowed hard, unable to look into her eyes any more, her gaze too much for him to bear. He felt so guilty, so unworthy of her pity or tenderness, and yet here she was, despite their differences, holding his hand. There was no more of what had once been between them, only remnants, shadows.

"Yes, you did break my heart," she whispered.

A part of her wanted to ask him if any of what they shared had been sincere. She wanted to know if his kisses had been true, the love they had made real, but she bit her tongue and released his hand.

Velkan's eyes glanced behind Hera now as he noticed the Count standing directly behind her, something the woman was completely oblivious to. The vampire's expression was difficult to decipher, but it was the first time in a while that he had seen both Hera and Dracula together and for the briefest of moments, Velkan could have sworn that Hera's very presence seemed to soften his enemy's countenance.

"Velkan, I have to know," Hera began, but the gypsy prince's interruption stopped her before she could even get the words out.

"Do you love him?" he asked.

His question took both Hera and the Count by surprise, but Dracula remained silent, Hera still unaware that he was standing behind her.

"Do I what?"

"Do you love him, Hera? Do you love Count Dracula?"

The vampire observed the woman closely from his present position, watching as she fidgeted nervously with her hands for a moment. He could sense her thoughts rushing, her heart racing. He half expected her to deny the proclamation she had made to him just two weeks ago, but she took him pleasantly by surprise.

"Yes, Velkan… yes, I do. Although I know no one will ever understand it, and he will never feel the same, I can't help but love him. I _know_ who he is, Velkan. Who he _truly_ is. I… I trust him."

"Did you know that, Count?" Velkan asked.

Hera's eyes widened as she spun around, noticing that Dracula was indeed standing directly behind her. She opened her mouth to offer some sort of chastisement, rebuke, or denial, but she quickly realized she had none to give. He already knew the workings of her heart.

Dracula was staring deep into her eyes, although his face was unreadable. He appeared rather unmoved by what had just transpired, but oh how deeply mistaken she was. Velkan sensed this immediately and he chuckled softly to himself in defeat, gracefully accepting the fact that he had now officially been beaten in the battle for Hera's allegiances. He realized now that he had lost her a long time ago, that she was never truly his.

She had always belonged to the Count.

She just never knew it.

Nobody knew it.

Only Fate had.

" _You know Count, she's always been rather soft when it came to you_ ," Velkan said in a language he knew Hera wouldn't be able to understand, and though she had made a move to depart, she stopped and turned to look back at the two.

There was a noted flash of surprise in the Count's eyes as he recognized the dialect Velkan spoke – a supposed dead language – the language of the Order of the Dragon, something that the vampire had assumed had been lost centuries ago. There were very few people who knew of the language's existence, and even fewer who still spoke it.

The last time Dracula had heard it spoken was the last night spent in his father's presence, the same man who had abandoned the name Drăculești – a title given to him by the Order of the Dragon – for the name of Valerious, in homage to his more noble ancestry. The Count found it curious that the language which embodied the very thing Valerious the Elder had abhorred had been passed down through his children.

" _Even before she officially met you, she had always been standing up for you… claiming that the man you once were still existed inside the monster you really are_ ," Velkan continued, secretly delighting in how Dracula's eyes narrowed slightly in response to the defiant remark.

Instinct told him to put the insubordinate brat in his place, but the vampire remained silent, listening to Velkan's piece, his _last_ one, for that matter.

" _My guess is she was right. Why else would she fall so hard for you? I never dreamed of having such an allegiance with her, of ever gaining her full and complete trust, even when all logic and reason tells her not to trust you_."

Hera looked between the Count and the gypsy prince with a curious expression. There was a knowledge in Velkan's eyes that she could not account for, whereas Dracula's expression was soft, attentive – focused. As if he were hanging onto every word that was uttered from Velkan's chapped lips.

" _I want her to have what she wants, Count_ ," the prince explained in that beautifully foreign language, and both men glanced over at Hera, confirming her suspicion that the conversation was about her. " _Even if it's you and not me_."

Dracula looked over at the gypsy prince.

" _Why_?" came the query.

" _She deserves more than I could ever give her_ ," was the answer, and Velkan looked directly into the Count's eyes.

Dracula had always been the enemy.

Ever since he was a child, Velkan had been taught that the vampire was nothing more than a selfish, unfeeling monster. The very demon from hell sent to kill his family. But something told him, deep within his heart, that Hera had managed to unearth something within the Count. He dared to hope that if given the chance, Hera would be able to nurture what little goodness existed in Dracula and maybe – just maybe – with Hera's love and this mystery hunter's assistance, Anna could survive this war as the last of the Valerious.

It was clear to Velkan that Hera's feelings for the Count ran much deeper than either men could fathom, and though his upbringing fought it, he had a sneaking suspicion that the vampire must have felt at least something for her in return – for why else would the Count be so possessive, so protective of not just Hera, but her heart as well? Perhaps it was because that heart belonged to the Count and in some dark, remote corner of his being was a desire to save her from any kind of suffering.

The prince took one last look at the woman he knew he would never have, and with a heavy breath his eyes found the vampire's once more.

" _Don't use her, Count. I know what you've been planning for her. Promise me you'll l_ _eave her out of all of this. Spare her. None of us are going to make it out of this feud alive – you know this. Just promise me you'll keep her safe._ "

The Count remained perfectly composed as he motioned for the Dwergi to raise the platform on which Velkan was strapped to.

 _I have had no intention of using her in that way for some time_ , came the vampire's voice in the prince's mind. _I have tried to spare her the ugliness of our battle, little prince, have respected her desire to remain neutral, and though you have no right to demand any favors from me, I will grant you my word that I will never compel her to choose between myself and your family._

Velkan nodded his head in understanding and then he disappeared, high above the rafters and out in the night air as a bolt of lightning shot through the sky.

Hera moved to stand beside the Count, the man staring thoughtfully up at the platform above his head where the prince was strapped.

"What did he say?" she asked curiously, careful not to touch the Count.

He tilted his head so he could look over at her, a peculiar look in his eyes.

"Nothing you need to worry about," he assured her with a faint smile.

Before she could examine him further in an effort to gauge what he was clearly hiding, he playfully patted her cheek and moved around her. All feelings of awkwardness dissipated as she rolled her eyes in an irritated fashion, turning on her heel to follow after him.

"Oh I don't, do I?" she challenged, arms folded defiantly under her breasts. He ignored her query and continued to walk, moving over to Igor and leaning over in a completely _against-the-laws-of-physics_ sort of fashion.

"Throw the switches," he commanded, the servant complying.

"Why won't you tell me?" she continued to press as he moved past her and over to one of the dynamos, to pull a couple of levers, outwardly unfazed by the fact that Hera was still following behind him like some sort of shadow.

"You don't need to know," he answered simply, before shouting another order to a few Dwergi and then to Igor, trying his best to discourage Hera's inquisition and stay focused on the present, but heaven help him – she was so diverting.

How he wanted to just hang the project for the evening, take her home, tell her how he truly felt for her and then show her for the next few hours or so—hell, he could even go for the next few days—but he couldn't afford the distraction, not after all of the work he had put forth in an effort to get the experiment of the evening off the ground; and with his brides down below, awaiting his call, it just couldn't be done.

He had devoted far too much time to his own amusement when there was work to be done, and though nothing would give him greater pleasure than to spend his nights and his days tangled up in this woman, he needed to stay focused – and indifference was the only way he could deter her.

Of course, even if he made the choice to abandon his schemes and lose control with her again, he had been reminded by Velkan that right now was really not the best time to do it – and for less than obvious reasons.

"Why won't you tell me what Velkan said?" Hera persisted.

"Because you don't need to know," he replied flatly, starting to run out of things to distract him.

" _Was_ it about me?"

"Yes."

"Then why won't you tell me?"

"Madam, I've already answered that question twice now. Can you please just take _no_ for an answer? I'm very busy," and he turned to face her.

That smile of hers suddenly made him pleasantly tense all over as his jaw tightened. Try as he might, he could not stop his physical reaction to this woman and he could feel his manhood pushing down into the leg of his trousers, hard and demanding. He very smoothly pulled his jacket tighter around his body in an effort to conceal his state as he struggled to remain unruffled and apathetic.

This female had _no_ _idea_ what she did to him! And all she did was smile!

 _No_ , he thought. _It's the way she's smiling_.

Yes, that's what did it.

"Please?" she begged, her tone drenched in honey, but there was a vixen-like flirtatiousness in her eyes that made his inner demon pace furiously behind the cage of his ribs, suddenly eager for freedom. Dracula bit down on his tongue and he bit hard.

"No."

Then he turned and quickly materialized in front of the exit, retreating into the darkened hall. He needed air, a moment to collect himself, to regain control over the raging beast inside of him – the one that wanted nothing more than to devour that unsuspecting mortal female whole. He almost made it out unnoticed, but the grabbing of his cloak had caught the ever-perceptive attention of Miss Garret, and she ran towards the door to catch up with him.

"Why won't you tell me?" she persisted. "Is it really _that_ bad?"

"Hera, please," he pleaded with her, clipping his cloak. "What Velkan said is of no matter. I don't understand why you're so keen on knowing, anyway."

"Because I hate not knowing," she explained, "and you're running away from me, which makes it all the more suspicious."

Hera was having to lightly jog to keep up with him and after turning round a corner towards a more remote part of the castle, she finally gave up.

"God, you know what? Fine. Fine!" she suddenly exclaimed.

Her outburst got him to stop and he turned to look back at her.

He bit back a chuckle when he took in the sight she presented, with her lightly flushed cheeks which were only accentuated by the hue of her hair. Her arms were crossed beneath her breasts and the rigidity of her stance told him she was anything but pleased with him.

He found her irritation humorous and even a little adorable, and though a part of him longed to put her out of her misery, he had sworn to himself that he would never reveal just how much he returned the woman's feelings.

It was for her own good, he'd tell himself, although in that moment, he was starting to doubt the justifications he had been privately making for his behavior towards her.

"Miss Garret," he began in an effort assuage her growing impatience with him, but she cut him off.

"No, just… forget it. I'm not going to force it out of you. If you don't want to tell me, then…" and she growled slightly, much to his amusement, "…fine! Be an ass about it!" and she went to move around him, but he caught her by the arm.

"Hera, wait…" he sighed, struggling to contain his laughter.

"I'm not fighting with you Count, alright? You win. Congratulations! Now let me go."

"Have I made you angry?" he teased. She flashed him a vicious look and he snickered. "Ooo hoo, I have!"

"I'm not angry," she insisted, her tone clearly unconvincing. "Just aggravated. Maybe even a little pissed off."

"Why? Because I won't tell you what Velkan told me?"

"No. Because I hate wanting you like this and clearly not being wanted back! I thought I could endure the lie, pretend that your obvious labors to entertain and placate my feelings didn't bother me. I tried to ignore the fact that your feelings don't even extend beyond your tolerance of me, but I just… I can't do it, Dracula. I don't want to do it. The whole… one-sided thing isn't cool, alright? I… oh… forget it!" and she tried to free herself from his hold but he wouldn't relent.

His evident refusal to release the woman only infuriated her further as a sense of humiliation began to settle on her shoulders.

"I don't know what I was thinking," she said, though mostly to herself, "believing that we had moved past the point of you just using me, but you know what? I don't blame you. You warned me from the beginning of your intentions and I ignored you and that's my own fault. So you can just carry on with your evil world-domination plan and I'll go find a corner to sit in… not that you give a flying fuck about me anyway," and she tugged sharply in an effort to free her arm, but his grip suddenly tightened.

" _Excuse me_? I don't _what?_ "

This "truth" – as Hera had saw it – had been bothering her for some time now, and although she had suppressed it with ease before, perfectly content in the past to accept the lie for what it was and enjoy the pleasure and sexual tension while she could, for the oddest reason, the lie wasn't enough for her now. Even though the Count had gone out of his way to have her brought back to reside under his authority, Hera was convinced that the distance hadn't changed a thing a thing between them, and she found this extremely disappointing.

Dracula didn't particularly care for Hera's version of the truth, and although he knew he had no one to blame but himself for her bleak view on how he saw her, all efforts to stay focused on his plans with his progeny were now being tossed to the wayside.

Hera – _his_ Hera – doubted him, and though it was exactly what he had originally intended, in that moment it was the last thing he wanted.

With a sharp yank on her arm, she was forced to face him fully and though he could see the hesitance in her eyes, he was thoroughly impressed with how she insisted on meeting his gaze. There was no fear in her expression – just a wealth of doubt.

"Oh please, don't insult me further by making me repeat it for you. Not that it would make any difference if I did," the woman insisted.

Dracula's eyes narrowed at her blatant insinuation.

"Try me."


	39. A Man Possessed

**DISCLAIMER: Citrus flavored shenanigans in the first half(ish) of this chapter. Proceed at own risk.**

 **All original stuff is mine. Anything you recognize is not. I don't take credit for things that are clearly not mine, so please don't sue. But Dracula IS public domain and is, therefore, free game. And that sounded a lot less dirty in my head...**

 **Don't forget to review!**

* * *

 **XXXIX**

 _ **A Man Possessed**_

"Try me," Dracula dared her through gritted teeth.

He wasn't angry, just… reckless.

"Why?"

"Because I want to hear what you have to say," he insisted, a little louder than he meant for it to be.

 _You want to_ _what?_ his conscience mocked. _Vladislaus, what has gotten into you?_

But he ignored that nagging voice in the back of his head and focused every ounce of his attention on the woman in front of him.

"No you don't! You just love hearing me say how much I bloody want you! It's an ego boost for you, isn't it? I swear, you are so–" and she attempted once more to free herself of him, but he only held tighter.

"You honestly think I don't _want_ you? Is that it?" he questioned, his face mere inches from hers, tone full of disbelief.

Her feelings on the matter, which she had now brought to light, bothered him when they shouldn't have. He should have ignored her, paid her no heed.

But he couldn't.

He didn't want to ignore her.

He didn't want to lose her.

For the oddest reason, Dracula wanted what they had, if it was anything at all, to work.

Hera looked directly into his eyes, ignorant of his inner struggle.

" _Think_ really doesn't give it justice, but yeah. I don't _think_ you do!" she countered.

The Count was at war with himself.

The urge to shove her up against the wall and take her in this very hallway, to help her _know_ just how much he wanted her – the temptation was almost too much to bear. He wanted to lose control so desperately, it made his head hurt.

He rather unexpectedly recalled in his mind how perfectly he fit with her, how he stretched her, how tight she was, how she felt all over his body. The fantasies he had had over the past few months since they had slept together had left him achy and hungry, as he had realized that the only person in the world who could sate his hunger was Hera.

Those black velvet fantasies crept into his mind like poison, and then they started to make their way through his veins as he recalled what she smelled like, what she felt like, what she tasted like. He could feel that almost embarrassing need straining in the crotch of his pants, aching to be set free, pleading for stimulation and release and he could deny it no longer.

He was undone.

To hell with the progeny.

To hell with the experiments, his brides, the Valerious family, his war with the world, and that wretched mystery hunter from Rome.

To hell with _all_ of them!

"You infuriating woman," he rumbled and he pushed her against the wall, hands on her upper arms, keeping her back as he stared at her with an unrelenting hunger.

His eyes glowed in the darkness of the hall as he battled his personal demons, the carnal beast in his brain clawing and scratching, begging him to mount her and mark her. But with an astonishing degree of sustained control that quietly impressed even himself, he closed the distance between them, dipping low so he could kiss her.

His lips were pressed firmly against hers, lingering, clinging, the wet flesh of his mouth encouraging her lips to open for him. Though her pride begged her to resist, she gave in far more easily than she would have liked, simultaneously hating and loving how he could make her shudder with just the stroking of his lips against her mouth.

Unbeknownst to Hera, Dracula was struggling to bridle himself, to keep this as slow and leisurely as possible. It was quite the task, but he was successful and he could feel the demon within calming just slightly as his lust was gradually fed.

When he kissed her more fully, his tongue sliding into her mouth, a velvet thrust hit her right between the thighs, and she eased into his body and the wall, heat spearing her as her body met his. She took hold of his waist and pulled him closer, trying to get closer to all that muscle and cool flesh, succeeding for only a moment.

She wanted him all at once, hating this painstakingly slow pace of his. Abruptly, he put a space between their bodies, though he kept in contact with her lip and Hera found herself wondering whether he was still kissing her because he was preparing to retreat, or maybe he was just trying to cool her off, as if he had only kissed her to soothe her.

How totally wrong she was.

Embarrassed, thinking his present attentions were a mere attempt to appease her, she turned her head to the side. He sent her a puzzled look.

"What's wrong? You want this."

"Yes, but not enough for the both of us," she commented icily, feeling a hint of humiliation coming on.

He probably pitied her, that's what it was, she thought bitterly. The young woman went to step out of his hold, but he stopped her by refusing to let go of her slender neck that he had gently grabbed during their kiss.

"I don't want to stop, Hera." His thumbs caressed the skin of her throat and then pressed into her jaw so he could angle her head back as his smoldering gaze sent shivers down the length of her spine. "I want to get you hot," he confessed, the forbidden words spoken in a soft whisper. "Hot enough so you don't feel anything but me. So you can't think of anything but what I'm doing to you… I want you liquid."

Hera shivered at the proclamation and the earnestness in his eyes, and for just an instant she thought she had dreamed it. But she hadn't, and the way he was devouring her with that dark gaze of his was evidence of that. He looked positively ravenous.

Before she could even dream of asking him for further clarification, he took her mouth with his, going in deep, taking her over. He searched all her corners until there was no interior place he hadn't explored. Then he changed the kiss, retreating and advancing, a rhythmic penetration that made her feverish and wet and he growled when he caught scent of her arousal.

"That's it, spitfire," he rumbled against her lips. "Let yourself go."

His hands drifted down, going under the lapels of her long coat, onto her collarbone. Good lord, she was already lost to him. He could have asked her for anything at that moment.

 _Anything_.

Anything he wanted, just as long as he never stopped kissing her.

"I'm going to touch you," he breathed, brushing the tip of his nose against hers. "Not enough, not _nearly_ enough. But a little… just to show you," and his fingers brushed over tight nipples shielded only by her thin blouse, and then he took the weight of her breasts in both of his hands. "So ready for me," he murmured thoughtfully, pinching her with his fingers, his eyes glowing brighter as his own arousal intensified. "I wish I could take them into my mouth… I want to suckle you, Hera. Would you let me do that?"

She continued to stare at his mouth as his brow pressed against hers.

"Would you, Hera? If we were alone; if you were naked for me? Would you let me taste you… _really_ taste you?"

When she gave him her breathless nod he smiled fiercely, a heavy arrogance in his air.

"Yes, you would. Where else would you like my mouth?" he asked, brushing his lips against hers as he spoke. When she didn't answer, he kissed her hard, intoxicated by the scent of her excitement. " _Tell me_ ," came the husked demand against her lips.

Hera's breath left in a wordless rush.

She couldn't think, couldn't speak.

He had paralyzed her.

She was still recuperating from his most previous bit of honesty and this certainly wasn't helping. She couldn't seem to formulate any sentences, having never ever felt so disoriented, so hot and disturbed in her entire life.

He sensed this and took her hand and put it around one of his.

"Then show me," he offered, still whispering. "Show me where you want me to go."

Unable to stop herself, she took his palm and put it to her neck. In a slow sweep, she brought it back to her breast. He purred his approval like some large jungle cat, kissing the side of her jaw.

"Don't stop."

Mindless, out of control, she drew his hand down to her stomach. He felt every inch of his body harden in anticipation and he encouraged her with his eyes to go farther, the mad rush of her heartbeat thumping wildly in his ears. It had to be the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. She went to lead his hand a little lower, but she hesitated.

"Keep going," he encouraged.

Hera could hardly believe she was doing this.

Her conscience and all sense of morality screamed at her to get a hold of herself, but he was inside of her mind, urging her… begging her. So before she lost her nerve, she put his hand between her legs.

In a move that was quick and efficient, he removed his hand only to slip his fingers behind the waistband of her trousers, skin against skin until his palm was pressed flat against her sex from within her knickers and his boldness elicited the most beautiful gasp from her.

"Oh yes, my spitfire, that's right," and he slid two fingers into her weeping slit, touching her in all the right places, loving how she gripped his shoulders, her head falling back. "God, you're burning alive."

Hera's arms wrapped around his neck, fingers getting lost in his hair as she fought to stay sane—and standing. He pressed his lips against her throat as his fingers rubbed and tormented her clit, nice and hard. The cradle of her hips instinctively rocked against his hand and he watched with fascination as her pupils dilated in her arousal, and then she was biting her lower lip in an effort to suppress the moan that was clawing its way up her throat.

He purred richly as she clung to the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to her. Her eyes were locked on his, boldly holding his gaze before her grip began to slip, palms starting to slide down his chest and to the cool metal of his belt buckle. But before she could get too far, he pulled her arms out and held her wrists in his one hand—keeping control of the situation. She sent him a disapproving look but his smile said he wasn't done with her yet. He pressed her backward with his chest until she sank into the wall.

"Let me make you feel good," he implored. Inside her pants, his fingers probed and with very little difficulty, he had found that pleasure spot inside of her. "I want to make you come, right here, right now."

Hera whimpered and moaned quietly as he touched her, unable to use her arms, her legs – everything was so heavy and yet so dizzyingly light.

All she could feel was his fingers, his cool breath, and that maddening tension in her core. He thrust his fingers in and out with purpose, moving harder, faster, and through the pleasure of it all, the look she sent him was full of pleading – and not the kind he had anticipated.

To Hera, he seemed so unattached, so unmoved by her. He sensed her moment of doubt, and he immediately banished it, pressing his hard erection against her thigh, increasing his ache and her heat.

"Do you doubt me now?" he growled passionately in her ear as his powerful arm wrapped around her waist for a moment, only to pull her closer and she melted into him. "I'm throbbing Hera, feel me…" and he grabbed her hand and forced it between his legs, loving how she gasped in surprise.

"Do you feel that?" he hissed, forcing her hand to hold him and he nearly lost himself at the sensation. "What does that mean, Hera?" he demanded fervently. "Tell me what it means. _Say it_."

"You want me," she breathed, her head resting against the wall.

He rewarded her utterance by grabbing hold of her hair, and then he was all over her, making her insides sing. When she finally tumbled over the edge with his urgent fingers still inside of her, he had to cover her mouth with his other hand to suppress her exclamation of bliss. It pained him to silence her, but he didn't want to risk anyone overhearing them.

He could sense the aftershocks rippling through her and her fulfillment made him long for his own, but just before he was certain he'd surrender and take her there and now against the wall, he quickly shoved himself away from her searing heat, removing his soaked fingers from her trousers.

Hera forgot how to use her legs and she fell to the ground, limp and breathless.

As she regained her composure, Dracula pointed at her, his eyes wild with a dangerous flame.

"Don't you _ever_ say I don't want you," he ordered her with authority, breath strangely labored. "What you just had is _nothing_ compared to what I _want_ to do to you," and he advanced toward her somewhat, zeal in his words and movements. "I want my head between your legs so I can lick you until you scream. Then I want to mount you like an animal and look into your eyes as I come inside of you. And after that, I want to take you every other way I possibly can until every inch of your flesh has been marked as _mine_ , until you are raw, weeping and exhausted, begging me for reprieve," he growled passionately, getting hot just thinking about it.

Hera never uttered a word.

She just stared at him. Stared with awe-struck arousal.

The fact that he wanted her was one thing, but the fact that it was so much more than she could have ever imagined or wished it to be made her weak.

A delicious tightness coiled between her thighs and for a brief moment, she could almost feel him inside her, his thickness surging and retreating until the final moment when his body would convulse into her with a powerful rush, his arms crushing her against him.

Her body arched just slightly and involuntarily, the fantasy strong enough to have her pulsating.

Echoes of the orgasm he had given her made her bite her lip as they continued in silence. His smell lingered on her in that moment and she inhaled deeply, but the throbbing ache in her womb only got worse. Sweet God, she wanted him and she wanted him _now_ – on the floor or against the wall, she didn't care.

But she remained silent and as composed as she possibly could.

Within moments, after a good few deep, controlled breaths, Dracula had regained his composure and cleared his throat.

"Does that clarify some things for you?"

Hera was still trying to formulate cognitive sentences.

"Yes, I think it does."

His lips curved just slightly and he offered his hand to help her up, but she shooed it away.

"No, I… I think I'm fine right here on the floor."

He chuckled.

"So be it. Are you going to stay here?"

"When my legs remember how to walk again, I may venture back to the laboratory."

"Then I'll see you there. Although I'd much rather continue with our most recent line of conversation, I do have business I need to attend to, for the present anyway."

But before he left, she watched as he placed the fingers which had so mercilessly pleasured her to his mouth, only to suck her wetness off of them in one slow draw. He then towered over her, that hand resting on the wall above her, her head level with his waist as he looked directly into her eyes.

"I _will_ have you again, my little spitfire," he promised her. "Properly, thoroughly, and sooner than you know. But you must be patient."

And before his sanity could run away with him again, he quickly retreated down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

The silence Hera was left in was overwhelming and she was certain she could hear the beating of her own heart. But after several moments, she realized that beating sound was actually the flapping of a pair of small wings. She turned her head in the direction of the sound and noticed that the wings had been joined by hundreds more, the screeches of Dracula's children echoing through the stone-laden corridors.

But she hardly cared.

All she cared about was that gentle, erotic tingle that was still rippling through her groin.

He wanted her.

Dracula _wanted_ her!

She sighed dreamily as she leaned against the wall, a ridiculous smile on her face until her eyes abruptly widened in shock as it dawned on her— _Van Helsing_.

Van Helsing and Anna were here!

Hera managed to rise to her feet, though a bit shakily. After fixing her disheveled appearance, she turned to follow the direction the Count had gone in an effort to warn him, but the sound of numerous gunshots and an angry growl told her that Dracula was already aware. She cursed softly.

If Van Helsing found her, he'd drag her back to the Valerious manor and lock her inside a dungeon and truth be told, after what she had just experienced, she had no desire to go back.

* * *

Van Helsing acted quickly, leaping into a nearby pulley, and using one of his circular blades to cut through one of the cables. He was then shooting upwards towards the laboratory and the hunter looked down just in time to see the vampire turn towards him. He sighed in relief when the Count was no longer in view. The lift stopped within the hive of Dracula's schemes—the laboratory.

As he exited from the rather primitive elevator, he took a quick glance around to see if he could catch sight of anything familiar. He did notice Anna on the rooftop doing God knew what, but he assumed that whatever it was she was doing, they didn't have time for it. His keen hunter senses told him that Dracula was on his way here to finish him off, however the Roman needed to find Hera first… and _then_ they could leave.

Deciding that now was the best time to be mildly irrational, he started to shout her name as he ran about the laboratory, figuring she had to be in here. He and Anna had searched a good deal of the castle earlier with no sign of the woman.

"Hera? Hera!" he barked, not caring that he was earning the attention of several of Dracula's minions—the Dwergi.

He growled impatiently, having no success in so much as spotting her. Van Helsing made his way up onto one of the rafters to see if he could get a better view. The place was teeming with chaos, and he scanned over the scene frantically. An unearthly growl told him that Dracula was near and he began to panic.

Where was that infernal woman?!

As if on cue, he turned around, ending up face to face with Hera herself. He opened his mouth to chastise her, but she never gave him a second to so much as utter a syllable. Her small fist collided with his face, knocking him back slightly in surprise.

Van Helsing immediately lost all patience with her as the pain shot through his nose.

The woman could pack a good punch.

She pointed at him as if she were his mother.

" _That_ was for locking me in my room," she snapped. He scowled at her as he rubbed his face, but she only smiled. "What? I told you I'd get even with you, didn't I?" He opened his mouth to retort, but Dracula's roars were getting too close for comfort. The Roman quickly took Hera by the arm, dragging her up to the roof, ignoring her protests. "Hey! Where the hell do you think you're taking me?"

"I hate to break it to you, Hera, but neutral or not, Dracula is dangerous, and I'm not letting you spend one more minute under his influence. You're coming with me."

She struggled furiously against his iron grip, beating his solid bicep in an effort to at least get him to loosen his hold, but her efforts never fazed him.

"He's not dangerous!" Hera insisted. "And even if he was, I'm not under his bloody influence. I still have my own free will!"

Van Helsing let out a cynical laugh.

"Ha! Yes, I definitely believe that," he exclaimed, dragging her up onto the roof where he noticed Anna rushing away from a transforming Velkan. The gypsy princess ran into the two of them. "I think we've overstayed our welcome," Van Helsing explained to Anna, grabbing her as well and leading the two women over to the edge of the battlement.

Calm and utterly confident, with a large, shiny pistol in his hand pointed out toward the very tall trees, Van Helsing fired a thin tether that flew across the castle moat, straight into the top of a huge oak tree at least two hundred yards away. He tied off his end, making the line taut.

Anna stared in utter amazement.

Hera just laughed.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me!"

The Roman ignored her, noticing that Velkan, now lost in the werewolf, had sat up on the platform, breaking the straps that had secured his chest and viciously tearing his way free. Van Helsing grabbed hold of Anna with one arm, who immediately grabbed onto him, and he looked over at Hera.

"You can't carry both of us, _and_ yourself!" Hera exclaimed. "No bloody way! That thing can't hold all our weight!"

Van Helsing never said a word.

He did, however, cuff one of Hera's wrists before fastening it to the cable and then pushing her over the edge of the battlement so she went zip-lining first. Anna and the hunter exchanged looks, the gypsy princess's expression filled with surprise and he shrugged.

"Yes I know, I could have handled that better," and he strapped his hand to the cable and with Anna still in his hold, they leaped over the edge of the castle, following after a screaming Hera.

"Are you crazy?" the woman shouted ahead of them. "It's not going to hold our weight, it's not going to hold our weight!"

Van Helsing started to lose his cool.

"It will if you'll _shut up!_ " he shot.

Suddenly, there was a snap and the cable went lose. They were all falling. The three of them screamed as they swung over the moat and into the dark forest, landing in a heap on the ground just as the werewolf, which had been responsible for the broken cable, went plummeting into the Danube.

As soon as Hera was on her feet, she high-tailed it and tried to run, not liking the idea of being locked up in the Valerious manor again, but before she could get too far, the hunter had tackled her to the ground.

"Let me go! LET ME GO!" she screamed at him, struggling to shove him off of her, but he was much stronger than she and despite her kicking and punching, he threw her over his shoulder and started to march off into the forest.

"You coming, Anna?" he called, the gypsy princess soon running slightly to keep up with them.

* * *

On the walkway along the parapet of the castle tower, Dracula's brides wept over-dramatically in the night, only having each other as comfort. Their master was crouched on the very edge of the wall, looking out over the river towards the forest where Van Helsing and Anna had escaped, taking Hera with them, according to what several of his Dwergi had seen.

A sour expression marred his features as he heard Igor slither up to him; if that sickly man had a tail, it would have been tucked firmly between his legs.

He looked terrified.

 _Wise_ , Dracula thought.

Still, the mortal had showed some courage simply by coming to face him.

"I am sorry, Master. We try and we try, but I fear we are not as smart as Dr. Frankenstein."

Anger flared in him and the Count came astonishingly close to ending the troll's pathetic life, but he knew Igor was right: as much as it pained him to admit it, Frankenstein had been able to do something that Dracula, in all his greatness, could never dream of accomplishing.

Hera had warned him of this, and he hadn't listened.

So, he merely sighed, turning to Igor.

" _Truly_ ," came the sarcastic retort. "It would appear the good doctor took the key to life to his grave."

The werewolf stepped up on the parapet having climbed up the castle walls from his fall into the river. He was all restrained power, the wolf, his eyes insane by mortal standards. Whatever conflict had existed when Velkan had initially fought the curse was gone. The creature was Dracula's now, the servant of his will.

For all intents and purposes, Velkan Valerious was dead.

In the past, Dracula had told his brides that he was past all feeling, cold, completely hollow inside.

But that was not true and he had always known this.

He could feel rage.

Now his fury was cold and vengeful.

Van Helsing was alive… that traitorous, murdering, hypocritical bastard of a holy-man was still _alive_. The Count shuddered slightly as his anger stood on the brink of outrage. But not only was the fallen servant of God alive… no… he had taken Hera, and that in and of itself infuriated the Count more than the death of his children did.

He had to find her, find her before the hunter hid her from his sight. He turned toward Velkan, locking his eyes and will on the wolf.

"Hunt them down. Kill them both. Leave Miss Garret to me," he added in a hushed but commanding voice.

The wolf snarled viciously and bounded off the parapet as the Count continued to look out over at the forest.

He had to find Hera before the sun rose.

* * *

 **A HUGE thank you to** Scarlet Empress **,** the invisible reader **,** She-Devil Red **,** alexc1209 **,** Bloodsired **,** AnimeFan001 **,** LostarielTuigalen **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** 12345678910 **,** ShadowSpade **,** Kiki's Stories of Awesomeness **,** Forbidden Moons **, and** Nyx-Arae **for reviewing chapter 38 yesterday.**

 **You are seriously the reason why I got up this morning to update again.** *HUGS* **Keep those reviews coming! Remember to tell me what you liked about the chapter and if there's anything you think I can improve upon writing-wise. Love you guys!**

 **\- T**


	40. Snark and a Windmill

**Happy Friday, everyone!**

 **A huge thanks to** alexc1209 **,** She-Devil Red **,** Madam Silver **,** Scarlet Empress **,** Bloodsired **,** Nyx-Arae **,** the invisible reader **,** 12345678910 **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** AnimeFan001 **,** RegencyPoet **,** ShadowSpade **,** Cosmopolitan Countess **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** Kiki's Stories of Awesomeness **, and** Tpurpleleaves **for reviewing yesterday/this morning - and especially to Tpurpleleaves who pointed out a glaring, yet minor mistake in the last chapter that I can't believe both my beta and myself missed! How embarrassing! It's fixed now, but thank you for pointing that out! I appreciate it. :)**

 **You guys get two chapters today. They're both on the shorter side - this one is 6 pages, the next is 7 and both of them are mostly dialogue, which means you will probably fly right through them. But quite a bit happens between now and the end of the next chapter, so ENJOY!**

* * *

 **XL**

 _ **Snark and a Windmill**_

The deluge was unforgiving as Anna, Van Helsing, and Hera made their way across the moors. Up ahead were ruins that the women recognized as the remains of the old windmill that had been burned to the ground by the villagers just a year before, when Dr. Frankenstein had created his monster; when Hera had first arrived here.

The mentioned woman had stopped struggling by now, though she was still being dragged along behind the hunter who refused to let go of her, the trio trudging across the countryside through the mud. The lot of them remained virtually silent, save it were Hera with her occasional smart-ass comments that she'd offer to the hunter every now and again in an effort to lighten the tension.

"God you two are so… serious," the woman had grumbled, glancing over at Anna who looked torn between bursting into tears and tearing something to pieces.

Which was understandable, Hera figured, considering the fact that the princess had just learned her father was indeed dead and her brother now worked for her greatest enemy. She was all alone in the world, Princess Anna Valerious, the last of her name.

Van Helsing on the other hand was silent as well, but for different reasons. If Hera's memory served her correctly, he had just learned that Dracula knew of his past. Part of her wished she could have witnessed the infamous meeting – seen the confrontation, experienced the atmosphere of strained respect and undeniable tension. But alas, she had still been fumbling with her feet, trying to snap herself out of the land of mind-numbing bliss and erotica which Dracula had left her in.

Hera sighed heavily, as loud as she possibly could in fact.

Then she yawned.

"Seriously, Van Helsing, can you walk any slower? I'd really like to go to bed sometime before the bloody sun rises."

Hera noticed a slight smirk on Anna's lips as they walked, clearly amused with how annoyed Hera was making the hunter. The small reinforcement only gave her reason to continue.

"But of course, that's right, you're deep in thought. Excuse me. So sorry to interrupt you. You must be thinking about Dracula… he's gorgeous, isn't he? Oh wait, that's right, he's not really your type. That's going to disappoint some of the fangirls back at home. Of course, if you _were_ fantasizing about having sex with Dracula, who happens to be dead—or… _undead_ as he constantly reminds me—that would mean you'd be a homosexual necrophile. I'm not exactly adverse to the idea of two attractive men getting their jollies with each other, but where you're involved, Mr. Van Helsing, and considering my own personal tastes, I find such a pairing to be… well, not entirely appetizing unless you find some appealing woman to stand as buffer between the two of you. But, alas, you've never been the sexually deviant type, have you? Those poor fangirls."

The hunter grumbled an oath under his breath, but said nothing else on the subject, refusing to be baited.

" _Homo_ sexual?" Anna then inquired. "What is that?"

"In my time, they call people who are sexually attracted to individuals of the same gender being gay, or _homo_ sexual, which would make _you,_ Mr. Van Helsing, a _hetero_ sexual," and she patted the hand that was still gripping her wrist. "Congratulations. You've officially been placed in a socially-constructed box."

Anna rolled her eyes in an effort to keep from smiling, although her frustration and sense of failure certainly weren't going away. Part of her was still annoyed with the man walking alongside her—that he had been right about Velkan. The hunter, on the other hand, muttered something obscene under his breath in response to Hera's commentary and kept walking.

"Hera, I can't believe you," Anna replied, a smile curving her lips.

"What can't you believe?"

"That you find my family's greatest enemy attractive."

Hera merely shrugged.

"Anna, I have always had a weakness for beautiful men, and although Dracula may be the villain of your story, even you have to admit that he _is_ rather good-looking for a dead guy," she replied, noticing how Anna was lagging behind the hunter so she could walk beside the woman as they conversed – or maybe it was to check out the Roman's tight ass and broad shoulders.

She honestly couldn't tell.

"But he's a vampire, Hera. And he's my family's greatest enemy," Anna countered.

"And as our strong, brave, and oh so arrogant Mr. Van Helsing found out this evening," and she playfully patted his hand again, "he's indestructible, too." Hera let out an overly-dramatic sigh. "Dumb ass, I told you the stake and crucifix wouldn't work. But _no_ , you said. _You don't know what you're talking about and neither does Anna._ I swear, you men – never taking advice or asking for directions. Your pride will be the death of you."

Anna suddenly turned on the hunter and sent him an incredulous look.

"A silver stake? A crucifix?" she asked as if the mere suggestion were an insult to her entire family tree. "What, do you think we haven't tried everything before?"

Van Helsing walked under one of the charred windmill sails, which offered them a temporary refuge from the rain and steered Hera over to a corner and pointed at her as if she were a dog, the gesture telling her to stay put. Before he turned his attention to Anna, he sent the other woman a look that seemed to say _thanks_ _a lot, traitor_.

Hera just smiled, bowing her head theatrically before stepping aside so she could better watch as Anna continued to get worked up over Van Helsing's ignorance. Hera even started to mouth the princess's words to Van Helsing, whose jaw tightened in his effort to keep from smiling.

"We've shot him, stabbed him, clubbed him, sprayed him with holy water, staked him through the heart and still he lives!" and Anna shoved the hunter who had an ironic smirk creasing his lips. "Do you understand me?! No one knows how to kill Dracula!"

The hunter glanced over at Hera who just smiled after her silent mocking and he rolled his eyes, facing Anna, his hands on his hips.

"Well, I could have used that information a little earlier…" he began, but he noticed Hera mouthing his words and he grew irritated with her, pointing an accusing finger. "Shut up, Hera!"

" _What_? I didn't say anything! What is it with you people, always accusing me of speaking when I'm _not!_ " she defended, but the Roman scowled, not liking that this woman knew everything and still refused to help in the way he wanted.

In his mind and in his world, you were either on one side or the other.

There was no neutral, no gray in his realm of black and white.

But Hera was neutral, or at least claimed to be, and it bothered him immensely.

That, and all of the sarcastic comments she had been offering since they had escaped Castle Frankenstein, not to mention the nicely delivered punch he had taken to the face, weren't helping his mood either.

"I don't want a word out of you, Hera," he ordered her as Anna moved away from the two of them.

"Again, I'm wondering who the hell died and made you king," Hera seethed. "And for wanting my cooperation and assistance, you sure are doing one hell of a job at convincing me that I should help you!"

He got in her face.

"I just saved you from the clutches of the Count and _this_ is how you thank me?" he asked, utterly bewildered. "By throwing your snide and wildly inappropriate remarks at me, by punching me in the face and being a complete pain in my ass!"

"If I'm such a pain in your ass, why do you insist on dragging me along with you and Anna? You could have _left_ me there!"

"I SAVED YOU!"

"You saved me? I didn't need to be saved, you idiot! Dracula didn't harm me!"

"You mean to look me in the eye and tell me he didn't lay a _finger_ on you?"

Hera opened her mouth to give him her counter-attack but she realized she had none. He was right. Although Hera was positive Van Helsing didn't mean it in the way she assumed, the truth was Dracula had touched her… _a lot._ And he had certainly laid more than just a finger on her.

The Roman noticed her defeated expression and pointed in her face.

"I _knew_ it! He did touch you, didn't he? And you liked it Hera, didn't you! _Didn't you!_ " he snapped. Hera shoved the hunter's accusatory finger out of her face.

"Oh, grow up, you pernicious… _knave_!"

Van Helsing laughed.

"Oh, so the woman is using Shakespearean language? Well, aren't you the little _learned lady_? I thought your vocabulary was too small for that!"

"At least my vocabulary is bigger than yours! And _at least_ I know when to keep my hands to myself! I'm not a child. I don't need you holding my hand!"

"Oh please!" he shouted back at her.

"You know what, Gabriel? If you want to get all hand-holdy, touchy-feely on someone, go do it with Anna! I swear to God, you two are freaking made for each other. She certainly likes killing things and passing adverse judgments on strangers as much as you do," and she stalked away so she could go sit down.

The gypsy princess and the hunter turned and looked at Hera with wide eyes and puzzled expressions, as if she had read right through both of them.

"What did you say?" Anna inquired, seeking clarification.

"Oh, don't insult me with that faux-innocence. I swear, the both of you were practically molded from the same stuff," Hera exclaimed. "Not to mention you two are both so bloody judgmental, always making assumptions about people and their characters before you even _meet_ them or get to know them. Then there's the fact that the both of you are so damn infuriating, sometimes I just want to pull out my hair and scream! You two are bloody perfect for each other with your twisted, deranged pasts, and you both hate Dracula to no end although neither of you have any idea as to _why_ …"

Hera plopped down on a pile of rubble, picking up a broken bottle of absinthe and tossing it aside when she realized it was empty.

"He's tormented and murdered my family for generations!" Anna insisted, finally finding her voice, although Hera's comments and accusations were startlingly accurate.

"And you told me, Anna Valerious, that most of those deaths were indirect! The rest could technically be categorized as self-defense on his part," Hera defended. She then whirled on the hunter. "And _you_! You're just doing your _job_. The Knights of the Holy Order say _jump_ and you respond with a _how high?_ "

"It's because he's the son of the Devil and…" he began, but naturally, she cut him off.

"Yeah, and if you kill him, anything created by him will also die. I know!" she grumbled. "Honestly, Gabriel, do you ever think about anything _else_ besides killing Dracula?"

"You know what Hera, I am getting really…" he started, advancing towards her, ready to fight, but luckily Anna got between the two of them, pushing them apart.

"Alright you two, break it up," and she shoved them away from each other, standing between. "Listen, Hera, you really need to tone it down, or better yet just… just stop talking. I understand the pressure you're under and that Mr. Van Helsing has been treating you, well… with little to no respect, but remember, he doesn't know what you're going through or what you've experienced and he wouldn't understand even if you explained it to him. He is, after all, just a man."

"Hey!" Van Helsing countered, but Anna turned on him.

"And you – lighten up on Hera. You're going to have to get used to the fact that she is neutral in all of this. We went over half-a-year without a single vampire or werewolf sighting because of her and maybe if you were nice, she'd probably be more willing to use her standing with Dracula for our benefit. Now both of you, just… no talking to each other."

"But…" the two began at once, but the gypsy sent the two of them a look and it silenced them immediately.

"Now then… _I can't believe I'm saying this_ … apologize to each other."

"What?"

" _Do it_!"

Hera grumbled slightly before complying.

"I'm sorry for being a smart ass and for purposefully irritating you. And I was totally kidding about the necrophile thing…eventhoughitcouldtotallymakessense…" she muttered quickly, but she was caught.

" _Hera!_ " Anna chastised.

"Alright, alright. I was kidding and I'm sorry. There? Will that suffice, _mother?_ "

Anna merely responded with a half-hearted sigh.

"Yes, that's fine." She then looked over at the hunter. "Mr. Van Helsing?" she cued.

The Roman couldn't believe he was doing this, that he was being ganged up on, _manipulated_ by two very obstinate women, but after several moments of nothing but the sound of the rain, he exhaled in defeat.

"I'm sorry for not trusting you," he muttered slightly, eventually offering somewhat of a small grin. "And for locking you in your room, and for walking in on you earlier this afternoon."

"Apology accepted," Hera said with a wry grin before shoving a bottle of absinthe into his hand and moving away to get another one, purposefully giving Anna and Van Helsing some space. The hunter rolled his eyes and examined the bottle with curiosity.

"And I'm sorry," Anna added softly, looking up at him. "You were right about Velkan. He's not my brother anymore."

Van Helsing glanced over at the gypsy princess soon getting lost in her eyes. There was something within her warm, chocolate colored irises that lit a small flame within the man. Hera's accusations had left him thinking – Anna indeed was a beautiful woman. Definitely far more his type than Hera was, although the woman did have her charms and a few quirks he found he liked.

But Anna – Anna was so strong.

The princess was such a fighter, her beauty classical, and she had a fire and passion that was slightly foreign to him. She had the eyes of a warrior, having seen and experienced so much, and that aspect of her made the gypsy princess all the more attractive in his eyes.

Anna moved closer to him as he uncorked the bottle.

"Do you have any family, Mr. Van Helsing?" she inquired.

"I'm not sure. I hope to find out someday; that's what keeps me going."

Anna took the bottle and held it up in a toast, both unaware that Hera was watching them, a small curve in her lips as she witnessed the little scene unfold.

"Here's to what keeps you going," Anna replied, taking a deep slug of the fiery liquid, enjoying its bite.

"Absinthe. Strong stuff," he remarked, a barely noticeable wolfishness in his eyes as he took it from her.

The smile on Anna's face made a delightful chill run down his spine… or maybe it was the cold. He hardly cared. All he knew was her rare smile was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

"Don't let it touch your tongue, it'll knock you on your-" but suddenly, the world shifted under their feet and it suddenly dawned on Hera, a little too late, what was going on.

They were pulled downward as the soggy ground beneath them caved in. They fell and a cascade of water and timber crashed down with them. Hera was too in shock to recognize what was happening, and before she could cry out, she felt something hard hit her head, her skull taking a nice knock. And then everything went black.

* * *

 **Let me know what you thought about the addition of Hera to this iconic scene. Did you enjoy it? Is there something I could have done to improve upon it? Leave me a review and let me know!**


	41. Sympathy, Tenderness

**Last one for today! Don't forget to review :)**

* * *

 **XLI**

 _ **Sympathy, Tenderness**_

Hera's head throbbed and the world beneath her was spinning fast as she came to, forcing her eyelids to peel back. A dim light could be seen up above her, but everything else seemed so dark.

The young woman let out a groan as the sharp pain in her head began to match the rhythm of her heartbeat. She made an attempt to reach to touch the ache, but she found her arm wouldn't move… something was pinning it down.

Trying to conjure up some decent thought processing, she fluttered her eyes a bit, adjusting them to the muted light. When at last her world started to make sense, she realized where she was: beneath the broken windmill.

The floor she had been standing on had caved in.

With some brief exertions, she had managed to weave herself free of the wreckage and she sat up, her head feeling like it was rapidly spinning in circles. She reached up to touch her brow when she felt something wet… sticky. Looking down at her hand, she soon realized what it was.

Blood.

That's why her head hurt. She heard the groan of a man and noticed Van Helsing a good ways away in what looked like a glorified puddle, whereas Anna was buried beneath some rubble, still unconscious.

Hera pushed herself to her feet and began to climb up out of the ruins, Van Helsing calling after her.

"I'm going to get help," she explained as she emerged out of the gaping hole, soon reaching the surface.

"Hera!"

"You stay with Anna," she said. "I'll get Carl."

"Hera, you're hurt… get back here," the hunter insisted, shaking off his own aches and pains.

"I'll be back, I promise!" she called as she crawled out onto the rain dampened soil of the earth above, trying to dispel her lightheadedness as she pushed herself to her feet and began to walk.

It was still a good hour or so until sunrise, which meant danger still lurked about under the darkened sky. She had to hurry.

Although buried within her conscious mind she already knew they were safe, Hera had taken a nice knock to the head. Therefore all her thoughts seemed a bit less than comprehensible—at least for her.

With her vision still spinning and her head throbbing, Hera made her way towards the village as fast as she could.

After a good twenty minutes, she caught sight of the Valerious manor, her thinking a bit clearer now, but the pain in her head had only intensified. She threw herself at the entrance of the manor, hardly aware of how early it was, and she banged on the front door.

"Carl! Carl! Open the door!" she called, her bloody head resting against the cool, smooth pine, feeling some of the sticky life-giving essence smear. When no one came, it suddenly dawned on her. Despite how lightheaded she was, her fiery tongue was still intact.

"Carl! Stop screwing the stupid barmaid and get down here! Van Helsing is in trouble! CARL!" she kicked the door this time before losing the power over her legs and collapsing against the locked entrance. Sliding down to the frozen stone of the front steps and into the snow, little black dots started to dance in front of her eyes.

And then she noticed a flash of pink.

Hera made a face and blinked a few times, trying to clear her blurring vision. It worked… but only for a moment.

Aleera was a vision of otherworldly beauty, donning her usual magenta gown, her flame-colored locks spilling down her back, a few curls resting atop her flawless breasts. Though her beauty was indisputable, there was a cruelty in her otherwise vacant expression that left something unpleasant to settle in the pit of her stomach.

An icy wind blew, gathering the flaming red-head's hair, and though Hera shivered from the cold, the youngest and most dangerous bride of Count Dracula was unaffected by winter's cruel bite.

How could she be otherwise?

Aleera was the queen of cruelty.

The elements themselves could not harm her.

"Oh for crying out loud, what do _you_ want?" Hera groaned impatiently.

The vampire's eyes glowed violet as she noticed the blood on Hera's forehead and she licked her lips sensually as she made her way over to the wounded mortal. Hera immediately took note of the hunger in Aleera's eyes, but there was something far more dangerous than bloodlust lingering behind the bride's flawless face.

There was something darker… deeper… horrific lying beneath the surface and it sent a chill through Hera who was too weak to retreat.

"What I desire, _spitfire_ ," she said mockingly, "is to skin that pretty flesh from your body while you breathe, and then to bathe in your blood."

"Well, that's oddly specific."

Aleera chuckled with a lustful look in her eyes, falling to her knees beside the woman and then leaning forward so she could lick the life-giving substance from Hera's forehead. There was something about Hera's blood that made the bride's flesh tingle from head to foot and her fangs lengthened as she stared into the mortal's eyes.

"I have wanted a proper taste of you from the moment I first saw you," came the nearly inaudible whisper as all life drained from the voluptuous beauty's face, her jaw extending slowly to make room for the razor sharp incisors that were lengthening in her mouth.

The vampire's hand rested for a moment on Hera's abdomen before slowly slithering up and over the woman's breasts suggestively.

"I want to know… why the master is so entranced with you…" she then explained, her lips close, breath reeking of old blood. "What is it about your blood, about your flesh, which makes him forget…"

Although confused and uncomfortable with Aleera's proximity, not the mention the vampire's hand which was now fondling her breast, Hera lacked the strength to fight. She was too tired to.

So she simply closed her eyes and let her head sag back, not having enough strength to hold it up, let alone fend off the dangerous bride. Hera braced herself for the inevitable pain of Aleera's fangs piercing the flesh of her throat, but it never came. Instead, the unnerving silence was shattered by the sound of the young bride screaming and Hera opened her eyes to find Aleera had been flung off of her and into a nearby tree by none other than Verona.

The eldest bride's fangs were bared, her eyes a tumultuous teal.

"Stay away from her!" Verona growled angrily at her counterpart as she stood in front of Hera protectively.

Aleera quickly composed herself before snarling wildly at her older sister, her long nails turning into deadly talons as her jaw extended to accommodate the length of her fangs. The wind seemed to whip through the woman's hair and dress as if for effect, but Verona was not intimidated.

She only got angrier.

With an even more powerful roar, the younger bride finally backed down in submission, taking the hint that she was no match for Verona, especially given the mood she was in. The dark haired vampire pointed a long, elegant finger into the direction of her younger sister.

"You have been crossing far too many lines, Aleera," she hissed.

"The master had a bite of her! Why can't I?" the woman shot, her voice sounding a bit darker than expected, even slightly demonic.

"Keep your jealousy under control or I will inform the master that you were attempting to take away Hera's life!" Verona threatened, her own voice deepening.

"She is distracting him! Just because you've found a new play thing, doesn't mean _I_ will forget the master so easily!" Aleera challenged.

Naturally, Hera was lost from there.

Verona had a _what_?

Before she even had the chance to ask, Verona leapt for Aleera, but the redhead quickly shifted and took off into the sky before any additional violence could occur. And just like that, she was gone.

As soon as Aleera was out of sight, Verona's complexion returned to the pallid beauty it usually possessed and she made her way over to the steps of the Valerious manor, kneeling beside Hera who was now flat on her back. The bride cradled the woman's head in her arms.

"You're hurt," she stated simply, eyeing the ghastly wound on the mortal's head with a hint of bloodlust, but she kept herself in check by tearing a piece of Hera's blouse and pressing down hard on the wound. She had to stop the bleeding.

"What are you doing here? Isn't it almost dawn?" Hera finally asked.

Verona continued to press the rapidly soaking rag against Hera's head.

"The master sent us out to look for you, the hunter, and the princess," she explained. "Naturally, Aleera wasn't too pleased."

"Yes. I've noticed Aleera doesn't like me very much."

"In her mind, you've stolen the Count from her and she is incapable of accepting it."

Hera looked up into Verona's rather distant eyes. This woman was hiding something… she could sense it. But before she could begin her interrogation, a howl reached her ears and both women turned in the direction of the sound. Velkan in wolf form could be seen racing from the outlying forests into their direction.

Hera's heart skipped a beat for a moment or two when she first saw the wolf, thinking they were in danger. But when the prince shifted back into human form as soon as the moon was covered by the clouds, relief flooded her system. Velkan quickly joined Verona and Hera on the front step. He was dressed in nothing more than what was left of his pants, which wasn't much at all.

"You found her," he said, catching his breath as he fell to his knees on the other side of Hera.

Verona held his gaze for two seconds too long, and though she quickly returned her attention to Hera's wound, the action had not gone unnoticed by the astute mortal.

"She's been injured. I don't know how…"

"Where is Anna?" Velkan asked. "Hera, where is she?"

"You can't go looking for her now, Velkan. The master said…" Verona began, but he interrupted her.

"He said to find Anna and this Van Helsing as well, and I will do that, but I have to make sure she's safe before the wolf takes over me again."

Silence ruled the air as Hera looked up to see Velkan and Verona staring into each other's eyes. There was something passing between them…

Were they… No. It was too soon. But maybe…

"What if the hunter harms you?" Verona asked, temporarily forgetting that Hera was witnessing all of this.

Velkan smiled.

"He won't harm me," he promised her softly. "Where is Anna, Hera?"

"The windmill," the young woman said, still a bit in awe at what she was witnessing. Were Verona and Velkan having a thing? Did _Dracula_ know? "She and Van Helsing are at the windmill."

Velkan nodded and stood, preparing to leave when Verona, who was already acting completely out of character, momentarily excused herself to follow after him, offering a "I'll be right back" to Hera. The mortal rolled over onto her side slightly so she could see where Dracula's eldest bride was going. What she saw were two shadows—Velkan's and Verona's.

"Be careful," she thought she heard Verona whisper before the vampire moved forward and kissed the gypsy prince.

Hera's eyes widened in shock as she watched the shadow of Velkan kiss her back, and not with any kind of timidity or awkwardness either. It was passionate, familiar. Although Hera had a feeling she'd never get to hear the story behind _that_ particular arrangement, the mere suggestion of it still made her smile.

Shortly thereafter, Velkan shifted into his wolf form and disappeared into the shadowed forest, leaving Verona to recompose herself before returning to the mortal's side. Hera sent the dark-haired beauty a look and the vampire would have blushed if she had fed recently.

The look in her eyes said everything.

"You won't tell him, will you?" she asked, as she knelt down beside the mortal once more.

Hera could have laughed if the throbbing in her head would have let up, but her sense of wooziness had grown worse. She could practically feel the earth spinning beneath her.

"Tell who what?" she teased.

Verona only smiled and the two sat in peace for a minute or two until a familiar screech and the sound of heavy wings pierced the short moment silence.

It was Dracula.

Hera, although her vision had worsened since those black spots had returned, could see the dark figure of the Count landing in front of the Valerious manor. His stride was massive as he walked briskly towards them, his cloak billowing majestically behind him. He tried to hide the worry in his eyes, but considering the circumstances, he did a poorer job than usual.

"What happened?" he demanded, falling to his knees opposite of his bride.

"She's been wounded, my lord. I haven't asked her why," Verona explained patiently, unable to look into her master's eyes.

Not that it mattered. His attention was fixated on the unsettling gash on his beloved Hera's head.

"Was it Van Helsing?"

"No, Count, no," Hera managed. "It wasn't him. I… I don't really remember what happened. But it was at the windmill… the floor looks like it collapsed."

"I think she's suffered from a minor concussion," Verona suddenly explained.

"How do you know?"

"The short term memory loss," Verona clarified. "She's lost a lot of blood, master, from what I can tell. I tried to clean up the wound the best I could, but I haven't fed in some time and something that deep is beyond my healing capabilities."

"Leave that to me," was his answer.

"I don't feel so good," Hera suddenly answered weakly.

"She's soaked through, my lord. We should remove her wet things and get her out of the snow as soon as possible. Head injury aside, she could catch her death out here."

Dracula nodded, appreciative of Verona's rational thinking, and he offered to take Hera, which the bride complied with immediately, placing the woman's head in her sire's lap.

"Where are the others?" he inquired, removing his cloak as Verona gingerly pulled Hera from her soaked jacket.

"Aleera's gone home. Velkan is at the windmill. He left not even five minutes before you arrived."

The Count nodded, wrapping his cloak tightly around the mortal's body in an effort to keep out the cold without having to strip her clean in front of his bride. This was awkward enough. He was being sympathetic towards a human – tender, even.

Although it was odd and even a little painful for Verona to witness, a part of her was pleased to know that the copper-haired female had brought that out in him, something she and no other woman had been able to accomplish even in the smallest degree.

"Tell Igor to move all the equipment from Castle Frankenstein back home, in the east tower. I want it set up before tomorrow night. After you deliver the message, go home."

"What about you, milord?"

"I'm taking Miss Garret to Budapest. She's been in the middle of this war for long enough," and he looked up at his bride, searching for her reaction. He could tell she was surprised, but she remained ever vigilant, obedient to the end.

"As you wish."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised. "In the meantime, if Velkan is unable to dispose of Van Helsing and Anna, I will need the three of you to keep a close eye on them while I'm away. If anything suspicious happens, you inform me immediately, understand?"

"Yes, master," and she stood to leave.

"And Verona!" he called. She turned to look at him. "Not a word of this… to _anyone_ ," he ordered, referring to his dealings with Hera, maybe even something more.

Whatever the case, Verona consented with an elegant nod and took off into the sky. The sun was preparing to rise – it would be dawn soon.

As soon as she was gone, Dracula returned all of his immediate attention to the fading woman in his arms. Her eyes kept fluttering open and shut as she fought the urge to slip into unconsciousness.

"Hera? Hera, I need you to stay awake," Dracula entreated, removing the blood-soaked rag from the side of her head to properly assess the damage.

He did not like what he saw.

"Vladislaus?" the woman called, her vision beginning to go dark.

He grabbed her hand and held it tightly.

"I'm right here, Hera," he consoled, holding her a little tighter to his body in an effort to keep her warm. "I'm right here. Just stay with me, okay? I need to heal you."

"I don't think you need to worry about me going anywhere," she sighed humorously and he lifted her up a bit so he could better see the wound.

"I can't believe you walked all the way over here instead of staying where you were, you foolish woman," and he extended the nail of his thumb so he could scratch the tips of his fingers, proceeding to lightly smear his blood into her injury, his touch miraculously stitching together her wound through the sheer power of his will.

When the task was complete, the pain in Hera's head eased tremendously, but her brain had still taken a nice knock and the overwhelming urge to close her eyes and drift off to sleep was something she could not shake.

"What if something had happened to you?" he continued. "No doubt you left a blood trail all over the length and breadth of the countryside."

"Are you seriously chastising me right now?" she asked weakly.

"I'm not apologizing for being concerned about your well-being," he relented, and that was the closest thing she'd get to an apology. Hera managed a feeble smile.

"Thanks for coming to my rescue."

Her words soothed the hard lines in his face as he relaxed a little until she visibly shuddered as cool breeze moved passed them. He pulled his cloak tighter around her, before lifting her up into his arms as he stood.

"Where are you taking me? Home?" she inquired.

"No. Someplace new and a little warmer. Care to guess?" he teased.

She smiled and curled up, melting into his hold.

"Ah, Budapest," she exhaled, her consciousness fading.

"Yes, Hera. Budapest."

"I haven't been there in years. I wonder if it still looks the same?" she wondered deliriously and he had to bite back a laugh.

"I do believe you'll find it very different from the Budapest you are accustomed to."

He moved out into the front courtyard before preparing to shift forms, having heard the friar coming for the door.

"Try to stay awake, my dear. I need you conscious for a bit longer."

"I'm not sure I can do that, Count."

"Just keep talking to me," he whispered, and with an exertion of will, his body transformed into that of a large winged beast as he leapt into the sky.

Carl opened the front door after the first flap of the vampire's enormous, leathery wing, and he screamed in terror before realizing what was going on and he shouted Hera's name.

The friar's cries drifted away as Dracula flew high up into the clouds, the few rays of the morning sun having no effect on him; he was after all, the king of vampires. He wasn't, however, accustomed to its brightness. Descending a little lower as to stay hidden in whatever cloud cover was available, he began to fly west with a soon slumbering Hera in his arms.

* * *

 **So Hera and Dracula are on their way to Budapest... How will Van Helsing react when he realizes Hera's been "kidnapped by Dracula" again? What will happen when our heroine and favorite prince of darkness get to Budapest? Is there a certain all hallow's even ball scene that we all know and love on the horizon? Leave me a review with your thoughts on the chapter and your predictions for the future and STAY TUNED! Next chapter will go live Monday!**

 **In the meantime, thank you for reading and thank you for your continued support of this story. You guys are seriously THE BEST.**

 **Have a wonderful weekend!**

 **\- T**


	42. Vilkova

**Happy Monday, everyone! I hope you all had a restful weekend. Here's a new chapter to kick off the week. It's a bit on the shorter side, but have no fear. You'll be getting longer chapters again starting tomorrow.**

 **Huge thanks to** She-Devil Red **,** Madam Silver **,** the invisible reader **,** alexc1209 **,** BornRose2 **,** AnimeFane001 **,** Scarlet Empress **,** Bloodsired **,** review stalker **,** RegencyPoet **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** Kiki's Stories of Awesomeness **,** Cosmopolitan Countess **,** ShadowSpade **,** TendernessOfTheHeart **, and** violetrose18 **for reviewing over the last 3 days! You guys are so awesome and I can't even begin to tell you how immensely helpful your feedback has been, let alone how much I appreciate your commentary.**

 **There is one point I'd like to touch on really quick, however - although I greatly appreciate a couple of you coming to this story's defense on occasion, please remember to be respectful of others in your reviews. Not everyone sees the same things you do, and some fans of the story don't read as closely as you might - and that's fine. I appreciate people reading my work in the first place when they could easily be reading something else. I can understand some of the frustrations a number of you could be feeling, but please be kind. :)**

 **Alright, better put an end to this A/N before it gets longer than the chapter itself. Forgive any errors I may have overlooked and ENJOY!**

* * *

 **XLII**

 _ **Vilkova**_

A thunderous boom awoke Hera with a start as she sat upright in the night, her eyes wide as they struggled to adjust to the dimly lit room, the only proper light being that of the smoldering flames in the fireplace. A flash of lightning lit up the chamber for a mere instant, giving Hera a chance to recognize that she was in a bedroom. Rain pummeled the windows mercilessly and the wind howled, another flash of lightning cracking in the sky, followed by the deafening rumble of thunder.

"Heh - hello?" she called into the seemingly empty room.

It took a moment or two for her racing heart to beat steadily once again as she took in her surroundings.

She was in a beautiful bedroom of a fair size—definitely not as large as the one she had had in Castle Dracula, but it was bigger than the one she had at the Valerious manor, and infinitely more handsome. It was too dark to take everything into consideration, but the chamber ranged in color from the deepest of crimson red to beautiful golds and creams, radiating off the warm glow of the fire, the metallic accents emphasized in the darkness.

The walls glinted with gilded crown molding, the intricate design of the jacquard wallpaper similar to the stunning damask comforter over the bed. The room was handsomely furnished, but the most impressive piece had to be the large bed in which she found herself situated. She felt mildly dwarfed lying in the middle of it all by herself.

How she got here was something she couldn't seem to understand.

And where precisely was _here?_

Lightning cracked once more outside as the rain continued to pound against the house. A shiver ran down Hera's spine at the sound as a hint of anxiety tightened in her chest. But determined to figure out where she was and who was keeping her here, she began to make her way towards the door in the direction of what she assumed would be a hall.

The chill of the floor hit her instantly as she became aware that some unknown person had changed her out of her clothes while she had been sleeping. She was dressed in a silky white nightgown that fell to her ankles with loose-fitting sleeves that kept rolling off her shoulders and down her arms. Not knowing where to find a robe or a small enough blanket to wrap herself in, and too nervous about where she was and how she had gotten here, she ignored the cold and slipped out of the room and into the darkened hall.

There were no lights nor candles to speak of; only a few windows here and there and most had the drapes pulled over. The air was frightfully frosty as she made her way down the corridor in search of what, she hardly knew. Lightning cracked in the sky once more as thunder vibrated the floor beneath her feet just faintly.

"Hera…"

She jumped at the sound of her name and turned to look behind her, frightened to find nothing but more hall and the open door to the room she had just left.

Who had called her?

Who else was in this house?

She waited a moment before turning around and continuing down her pre-designated path when the voice called her name again.

"Hera…"

She spun around once more, finding that no one was there… only the unlit corridor.

"Who's there?" she asked the darkness.

"Hera…" said the disembodied voice once again, only this time a little louder than before, as if it were getting closer.

She recognized the sound… but from where?

"Who are you? Show yourself!" she insisted, but no one came and no one answered.

The temperature in the hall descended dramatically as she stood there, alone in the blackness until lightning lit up the hall and thunder rolled in the sky, its unexpected emergence causing the mortal to practically jump out of her skin. She was so unnerved and confused, and the storm outside only made her feel more apprehensive.

Suddenly, at the far end of the hall, she noticed a white mist billowing towards her from around the corner. Paralyzed with fear, she found herself frozen in place, helplessly watching as it grew ever closer, that familiar voice calling from within.

"Hera… Hera…"

Something strange happened as she continued to stand there, staring into the curling mist that covered the floor of the hall – her fear began to dissipate as curiosity made its way into her system, particularly when the mist enveloped her and she closed her eyes. The fog was oddly warm, yet simultaneously cool, and she could have sworn she felt someone in the haze with her, circling her, whispering her name.

"Hera…" and she felt phantom fingers brush against her cheek, over her bare shoulders and down her arms. The voice whispered her name into her ear and her eyes snapped open as it dawned on her whose it was that was speaking.

"Dracula?"

The moment she uttered the name, the mist abruptly began to retreat down the hall and she followed after it. It led her up a flight of stairs, down another corridor, up one more flight of winding stairs, and then it slipped beneath the crack under a large wooden door. Her curiosity getting the better of her, Hera placed her hand on the handle, pushing against the heavy oak and making her way into a circular room that was covered from ceiling to floor in ice.

In the center of the small chamber was a sarcophagus made of stone, surrounded by ten large fixtures that reminded her of tall candelabras made of gorgeously carved marble and black iron. An assortment of white candles were situated on top, all igniting of their own volition as she entered the room. The melted wax hung over the sides like large stalactites, lending the space a primeval elegance to the already enticingly dark chamber.

The compartment was freezing, and her breath created a light mist in the air each time she exhaled. Rubbing her arms vigorously to ward off the goose-pimples, Hera approached the centered sarcophagus with a sense of intrigue, too entranced with the seductive aura of this place to even utter a word. She moved between a pair of the large candelabras and stood beside the iced-over sarcophagus, recognizing who was encased within.

Count Dracula.

Something wild and untamed burned in Hera's chest as she leaned over the sarcophagus, staring at the slumbering face of the frozen Count.

Why was he asleep in the dead of night?

And then it all came rushing back to her— she had been injured when the windmill had collapsed. She had gone to the Valerious manor to get help and Verona saved her from Aleera. Dracula had saved her life. He had brought her here, to Budapest. They were inside the Vilkova palace.

Admiration and a deep sense of gratitude swept through the woman at the thought of what the Count had done for her, what he must have done for her as she had slept. She recalled how unwell she had felt when he had found her. Now nothing seemed to be ailing her in the slightest.

Gently raising her hand, she reached out and brushed her fingers over the layer of frost in an attempt to get a better view of her rescuer. However, the moment her fingers grazed over the ice, it began to melt and she stepped back in surprise as all the ice in the room receded, creating a strange rippling affect, all from the simplicity of her touch.

A slight breeze ran through the room, flickering the candles as the rest of the chamber rapidly thawed out and when all the frigidity had vanished, the unnatural wind died away and Hera was left in the silence.

She stood there motionless for several lingering moments, waiting for something more to transpire, but the Count never emerged from within, so she took a cautious step closer to peek inside the sarcophagus. Within Dracula slept, his hands folded gracefully over his chest, his face peaceful and still. Not even his chest rose with breath. He was lifeless, as still as death, and yet, there was just a hint of color in his naturally pale complexion – a sign of life, as unnatural as it may have been.

Oh, the temptation to crawl inside with him and just sleep, her head nuzzled in his chest, his strong, powerful arms wrapped around her. She longed to trace his face with her fingertips, every feature of his perfectly fashioned form. Hera reached out to brush her fingertips against his cheek when out of nowhere his hand snapped up and grabbed hold of her wrist, and the woman jumped in surprise.

The Count's eyes opened as another round of thunder and lightning broke outside. She half expected him to show off his fangs, to hiss dramatically. But he did nothing of the sort.

No anger marred his features.

Just concern; genuine concern.

"What are you doing out of bed?" he asked her after sitting up.

When she tried to back away, he continued to hold her wrist in his hand.

Hera couldn't seem to formulate any sentences in that moment. She was too caught up in the brilliant color of his eyes. She had never seen them so bright before, so clear and pristine. So calm. It took her a moment to find her voice.

"I…I awoke because of the storm," she explained.

His lips curved slightly as he released her and climbed out of the sarcophagus with ease before vanishing from sight. He reappeared behind her and whispered in her ear, startling her.

"Did it frighten you, spitfire?" he teased.

She whirled around and sent him a look.

"Excuse me!" Hera practically shouted, but he hushed her as he chuckled to himself, placing two fingers over her lips.

"There's no need to shout," he said gently, and he caressed her cheek. She was a vision in that nightgown – what a sight to wake up to. "How are you feeling?" he asked her, his finger running over where her head injury had been. She managed a smile.

"Better," she replied. "It took me a moment or two to recall everything…"

His fingers ran down her bare throat, his touch cool, smooth.

"You suffered a minor concussion," he explained. "I healed what I could, but my powers are limited to external wounds. I made sure to mingle a bit of my blood with yours when I did so. Now that it's had a chance to move through your system, your symptoms should be minimal."

She smiled.

"Thank you."

His hand fell over the pale curve of her shoulder.

"Of course."

He left it there for a moment or two, as if he was silently contemplating something before he gracefully removed it and reached for her hand, wrapping her arm around his as he led her to the door.

"We better get you back to your room. You'll freeze walking around like that," and he led her down the tower steps.

"So we're in Budapest?"

He nodded.

"Yes. We arrived late this afternoon. It's a three or four day journey by horseback. Luckily for you, it only took us less than a day since we flew."

"You flew us all the way here… nonstop?" she asked with evident awe.

He nodded.

"Yes. Which reminds me, you must be starving. I can summon some food to be brought up to you, though I fear the options will be a bit limited. We won't have a full pantry until tomorrow. My caretaker of the estate was not anticipating my arrival until a little later this week, nor was he expecting a mortal guest to be accompanying me," he said with a smile. "If what we have here in the house won't suit, I know a place in the city."

Hera wanted to blush at his hospitality. He was being such a gentleman, the perfect and most obliging host! It made that warmth beneath her skin intensify.

"I'd be happy with whatever you have on hand," she assured him. "Besides, you must be exhausted, being without your usual rest."

"I've survived off less; sleep is a rather trifling matter for me and usually unnecessary," and he opened her bedroom door, leading her inside the dimly lit room. It was significantly warmer than the rest of the house; that was for certain. "I don't mind."

Hera let her arm slip from his as she turned to face him.

"I'd love to go into the city tomorrow," she said. "Anyway, I may have to wait on that food. I still feel a bit lightheaded," and she chuckled slightly. "I probably got up too fast."

"I'll ask someone to bring a tray up here anyway so you can eat when it's more convenient for you."

"That would be wonderful."

He smiled, nodding once as she made her way over to the bed, this strange, awkward silence between them.

"Is the room to your satisfaction?"

"Yes. It's very beautiful."

"I'm glad you approve."

That quiet reigned for another few seconds or so as Hera took a seat on the edge of her bed. She glanced over in the direction of the Count to find him staring intently at her, an unreadable expression on his face. Memories of his little passionate speech just the night before slipped into her mind and her skin crawled as she reminisced on how he had claimed he wanted her and to what extent.

And here they were, finally alone – just the two of them.

It would be so easy for him to shut the door behind him and to make love to her right now. He must have known that. They had _nothing_ holding them back. But the Count never made an advance, and Hera never questioned it.

"Are you sure everything is alright?" he asked her once more, breaking her from the spell the silence had cast on her.

She nodded her head as she looked down at the floor, noticing how he moved over to her out of the corner of her eye until he stood in front of her. She felt his cold fingers rest beneath her chin, pressing lightly so her gaze met his. He studied her face for a moment or two before leaning down and planting a soft, tender kiss on her lips.

"Then sleep," he whispered, pressing his hand against her shoulder, pushing her back onto the bed. She curled up under the covers, her warm gaze ever vigilant of him as he sat on the edge of the mattress, caressing her hair from her face.

"Sleep," he said once more, repeating the word over and over again in a soothing drone until Hera surrendered to unconsciousness.

When he was certain she asleep, he leaned over her and brushed his lips against her brow.

"I love you," he breathed inaudibly, the words mouthed against her skin. He kissed her once more, this time on the lips, before moving over to her neck and caressing his mark on her. "My love," he purred. "I will make you mine once more as soon as the week is out, I promise you. But you must be patient. Now is not the time. It's much too dangerous," and he curled a lock of her hair around one of his long fingers, kissing it tenderly. "Besides, I can only resist you for so much longer," he added with a smile. "My little spitfire…"

With one last brush of lips against skin, he then retreated from the room.

There was no way he'd get back to sleep now…


	43. A Fool for Love

**Thank you to** Nyx-Arae **,** the invisible reader **,** Scarlet Empress **,** She-Devil Red **,** Madam Silver **,** alexc1209 **,** BeautifulCataleya **,** 12345678910 **,** nosferatufan **,** Bloodsired **,** violetrose18 **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** BornRose2 **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** RegencyPoet **,** Kiriari **,** Cosmopolitan Countess **,** ShadowSpade **,** DreamBubbles **(welcome back!),** AnimeFan001 **, and** Guest **for your reviews in the last 24 hours!**

 **I know a couple of you have been on the fence when it comes to Dracula's character development - specifically us seeing a more tender and affectionate side of him. Well, you get a bit more of that in this chapter and I'm curious to hear your thoughts. I am still trying to keep him true to his character** ( _and_ his present development) **, but in all honesty, it's quite the balancing act because he's still selfish and proud, but is also becoming more selfless and vulnerable when it comes to Hera.**

 **I don't know, I could be overthinking this, but I'd really appreciate your thoughts on the chapter. Next installment goes up tomorrow!**

* * *

 **XLIII**

 _ **A Fool for Love**_

Hera felt the light brush of cool, satin lips against her mouth as a deep, masculine voice whispered to her, the sound reminiscent of the deep, rumbling purr of a black panther.

"Hera? Hera… wake up," he was saying.

"Hmm…"

She could hear him chuckle and then she felt him move closer to her on the bed, his arms on either side of her as he leaned over. His scent overwhelmed her senses as she inhaled deep and it made her sigh again.

"Darling, it's nearly four in the afternoon. Don't you think you've slept enough?"

Hera began to open her eyes slowly as the light from the sun flooded her room. The Count's face was perched above hers, and though she longed to roll over and sink into the feather mattress, his eyes forbade it.

But what a face to wake up to.

"After all the misadventures I've had lately, I can never have enough sleep, Count," she replied, watching as he sat up, still seated at the edge of her bed.

"You sleep more than any mortal I've ever met," he said with a smile. "And although your excuse has a degree of validity to it, you must remember that I am a very, _very_ selfish man and would request – no – _demand_ your company for the rest of the day and this coming evening."

Hera groaned, just to spite him, and pulled the covers over her head.

"Like hell, you're selfish," she mumbled.

Although he knew she was being difficult on purpose, two could play that game.

"Hera, I'm giving you to the count of three, and I don't care if you're decent or not, I'm tearing these covers off of you."

"What difference does it make?" she inquired. "It's not like you haven't seen it all before."

He grinned wickedly at her, running his hand up the length of her body, although she was still protected by the thick duvet.

"Is that an invitation?" he husked, pulling the covers down just a bit so he could see her face. Her smirk made every inch of him tighten in anticipation. "Because I accept."

She laughed at his eagerness.

"It most certainly is not," and she lightly pushed him away as she finally sat up.

"Suit yourself," he shrugged, but before he could leave, she quickly grabbed his hand.

"But that makes me curious – what would you do if indeed it _was_ an invitation?" she asked innocently, entwining her fingers with his. Hera watched with delight as that mischievous smile returned to his lips. He kissed her hand.

"I would make love to you, spitfire," he purred, leaning over and planting a brief, but tender kiss on her lips. "For hours…" another kiss, "…and hours…" and another, a bit deeper this time as he held the side of her face, "… and hours…" he breathed before kissing her fully, diving in head first.

Hera fell back into the pillows with the Count following after her, although he still stood by the side of her bed. His kiss was extraordinary and the way he breathed her in, caressed her mouth with his tongue – she could feel that familiar fever breaking out over her skin.

He pulled back briefly to speak once more, kissing her between words.

"And I'd do it until I was so exhausted I wouldn't be able to move any more. Until every inch of your flesh had been thoroughly attended to, every nerve sparking with life, every muscle pulsating from pleasure," and he placed one knee on the edge of her bed so he could lean over better without collapsing on top of her.

Dracula then began to whisper in his native tongue, the sinful words pouring into her ear as his lips brushed against the lobe and she blushed violently at the words he spoke.

"Are you serious?" she asked breathlessly, looking deep into his hypnotically blue eyes.

" _Yes_ ," he drawled. "I am a very _voracious_ lover."

She chuckled wickedly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I know."

"No you don't," he insisted, a crooked smile on his lips. "You don't know the half of it," and he dove in for more.

Dracula had never felt so alive, let alone so helpless to a woman before. But he was addicted to her, and he ached for more. He wanted to do all those things he claimed he desired to do to her, that night in Castle Frankenstein, and more. So much more. He couldn't really understand what it was about Hera that made him feel this way. But any bystander could see—

He was infatuated. Obsessed. Hopelessly in love.

It wasn't just the craving for physical intimacy, though that urgency was there. But there was something more to Hera that he hadn't encountered before in all his years. He felt compatible to her, as if she were his _equal_ , perhaps even his _superior_. Never before had the Count viewed anyone as such, let alone a woman.

The fact that she knew what he was, what demons he battled – and still she loved and trusted him despite it all – Dracula understood how unworthy he was to possess the devotions of such a creature, and it made him love her all the more.

He didn't care right now about the progeny, about Van Helsing, or even his remaining brides whom he had left behind in Transylvania. All he cared about was this rare alone time that he had with Hera and he was ready to take full advantage of it.

After pulling away from their series of kisses, he left her so she could bathe and dress after explaining his intentions to take her out to dinner. A short time later, having been thoroughly washed and perfumed, Hera ventured over to the wardrobe to find what fashions were in store for her.

"What to wear, what to wear…" the woman mumbled to herself, seeing as how most of the gowns were far too extravagant to go parading around Budapest in.

"I think," a voice said from behind as a pair of familiar arms wrapped around her waist from behind, "you should probably wear a dress."

The voice had startled the woman, but upon recognition, she eased into his hold.

"No trousers then?" she teased, feeling the Count move her wet hair to one side and he began to plant delicate kisses on her damp skin. "Pity. I was hoping to scandalize the locals."

"We're not in the mountains anymore, spitfire. You are my guest – I fear you must dress the part."

"I'm not quite certain what would be appropriate for this evening," she cued and he rested his chin on her shoulder, glancing into the open wardrobe at the myriad of colors and decadent fabrics. It didn't take long for him to find something.

With his offering soon laid out on the bed, he left her once more to change, only to knock on her door the instant she was ready. Upon her invitation, he entered the room, unprepared for the vision of loveliness that stood before him.

With the fiery sunset flaming through the windows as a backdrop, and the soft, innocent smile that curved her lips, he could honestly admit to himself that she had never appeared to be so lovely to him as she did in that moment.

The light of the setting sun and cluster of candles littered throughout the room played softly over the copper curls of her hair so that they seemed alive and on fire in the golden light. Hera's stunning profile was turned towards the Count and he watched it inscrutably – the slight quiver of her rouged lips, the flicker of her dark lashes, the supple curves of her figure clad in black French silk and velvet.

He could think of no compliment to offer that would be worthy of her, so he merely nodded his approval and motioned for her to come with his offered hand.

* * *

With the day long gone, a performance at the theater enjoyed, and the decadent meal that followed consumed and now digesting, the rather small and intimate table for two at the far corner of the dimly lit restaurant erupted with laughter. It had taken a minute or two for the tension to dissipate between the mortal and the vampire, but as soon as it had, it never threatened to return.

They had been talking for ages about everything and anything, including a reminiscence of the details of their acquaintanceship and the events that had transpired within the last year. The informality and ease in which their conversing took place surprised the vampire time and time again, but in the most pleasant of ways.

The twenty-six year old human in front him looked as young as she was, but it was like talking to an old friend that he had known for centuries. It was so easy to talk with her, so easy to act natural around her, and what had frightened him at first he was now learning to embrace.

As Hera continued in the story she was telling, he sat there, staring at her mouth as she spoke, drinking in every word, syllable, and articulation as his mind wandered just a little bit—taking into consideration how far the two of them had come.

 _It's been over a year since she first stumbled into your life, Vladislaus_ , his mind pointed out. _We never saw this coming._

 _No, we didn't._

 _She looks beautiful tonight._

 _I'm beginning to think now that she was always this beautiful… I can't remember her being anything else._

 _Oh, but you can. Don't you remember the first night you met her? You weren't even all that impressed with her._

 _It was her eyes that imprisoned me first. Then that vast wealth of knowledge, the wit that escaped her lips…_

 _You lovesick fool_ , the demon in his mind teased. _You have fallen in love with a human!_

 _So what if I have?_ he thought stubbornly.

 _She's a human. You're a vampire. You know deep down this will never work. What's worse, look at you! She has turned you into some soft-centered cretin. Remember Vladislaus, it is love that turns the strongest men into simpletons. Love makes people irrational. You_ know _this and yet you insist in continuing in this vein. She is already won! Give up the pretense and get back to work!_

 _I thought I could do that to her, but I can't. I can't use her like that. She'd never forgive me, and I would never be able to forgive myself._

 _You have gone soft, Vladislaus! You are a villain! You have always been a villain and forever will be one whether you love this woman or not! If you claim to love her, then at least have the decency to save her from more grief and just end this madness now! It will only be harder if you persist in delaying._

The Count glanced down at his glass of blood, the attentive expression he had been wearing starting to slip.

 _But I love her_ , he thought in a pitiful tone. _I love Hera. She is unlike any woman I have ever met. I… I can't help but feel like I belong with her. As if my destiny is tied to her in some way. She appeared in my time and in my presence for a reason. Perhaps…_

 _These are the ravings of a desperate madman, Vladislaus. Your destiny is tied to no one!_

 _But Hera is different,_ he insisted. _I… I want to make her happy. I want to love her, to protect her… to keep her as my own. I want to give up this progeny business. I don't want the world anymore. I just…_ He stared more intently at the glass before him, his fingers curled around the stem, hardly aware that Hera had stopped speaking and was now looking over at him with a hint of concern. _All I want is to be with Hera. For the rest of my world and my past to vanish into the horizon so I can look forward to my future._

 _You will only hurt her in the end, Vladislaus, if you go through with this._

 _I am strong enough. I can resist._

 _You say that every time, and every time it ends the same. You are not strong enough. You will succumb and it will be Hera that you hurt. Stop rationalizing, Vladislaus. Do not use your love for her in your schemes. If you care for the woman as you say you do, let her go. She does not belong in your world… in your time…_

 _But I can't… I love her._

 _Then you are a selfish fool, Vladislaus._

 _Be that as it may, then I am a fool for love._

 _The one emotion you gave up centuries ago and you embrace it so freely now._

 _I've never felt anything so right before. I feel like she's my destiny… and whether she be or not, I'm not letting her slip through my fingers._

"Count? Are you all right?" Hera inquired, a degree of worry in her furrowed brows as she leaned forward in her seat. Dracula's eyes immediately snapped up to meet hers.

"Yes… yes, I'm fine," he assured her, leaning back in his chair. "Just getting lost in my thoughts again," and he offered a smile. That awkwardness made another attempt to creep between the two, but luckily, the Count sensed this. Upon the silence, he spoke. "Do you want anything more to eat?"

"No!" she insisted, chuckling slightly. "You have stuffed the life out of me."

"Well then," and he stood, offering his hand to her so he could help her to her feet.

She half expected him to let her go or wrap her arm around his, but instead, he continued to hold her hand, something he had never done before.

"Come with me. I want to show you something."

The two moved out into the night after putting on their cloaks, Dracula leading her to the virtually empty sidewalk. Hera felt the urge to ask him where he was taking her, why he insisted on holding her hand, but she remained silent, unable to do anything else but trust him.

It was so strange for Hera to be walking the streets of one of her most favorite cities, seeing it in its older, more classical age. Although certain buildings and facets of the Victorian Budapest were unchanged, the atmosphere was notably different. There was an energy teeming along the darkened streets that moved her in ways it never had before. Perhaps it was being in a place that was so familiar and yet so new? Or perhaps it was the fact that Dracula was still holding her hand as they walked side by side in comfortable silence.

That is until the Count had grown weary of internally monologuing with himself. His subconscious was being quite the bitch this evening.

"Alright, I can't stand the silence any longer," he announced, earning a small laugh from the woman beside him. "We need a topic. Care to choose?"

"I chose the starting topic at dinner," she reminded him. "I do believe it is your turn."

"Very well. Can you tell me anything else about the future?"

"You mean outside of what I've already told you?"

"Why don't you tell me what happens to Budapest – to my country. I'm curious to know what the world looks like through your eyes."

Hera thought about it for a moment.

"Well, there are quite a few wars in the earlier half of the twentieth century," she began. "Two world wars which kick off a few decades from now, actually."

His eyes widened.

" _World_ wars?"

"Yes."

"How many die?"

"Almost a hundred million."

"So the city continues to stand in your time?"

"Yes. It does. Although not in this kind of grandeur," she explained as they stopped at the top of a hill, having cut across a field, heading back to the Vilkova palace.

The knoll overlooked the city and the vista proved to be breathtaking, with its lights and the soft mist that spilled over from the Danube.

"This is the most beautiful I have ever seen Budapest," she replied, a faraway look in her eyes. "Like most, the city has a lot of hardships ahead of her. But she survives. In a way, everyone learns how to."

They stared out over the glittering lights of the buildings and street lamps for another moment or two before the Count gently tugged on her hand and pulled her close so she'd continue to follow him. They walked over the other side of the lush hill and into a thicket of trees before moving onto the hallow ground—the graveyard that overlooked the backside of the Vilkova palace.

Dracula finally let her hand slip as they continued to wander through the cemetery, Hera silently admiring some of the gorgeous tombstones and statues, her eyes scanning over names she had never heard of and would never remember, dates that passed over the centuries.

"The future isn't all wars, though," she added, picking a leaf off a low hanging branch. "There are also technological advances that I haven't even told you about, some of which you can't even dream of!"

"Like your iPod?" he wondered aloud.

She glanced up at him, noticing how he was making his way through the rows and rows of grave markers, his eyes scanning over the names as well, as if he were looking for something.

Or someone.

"Yes. But that isn't even a real breakthrough. There are advances in not only technology, but medicine as well. Instead of using horses to get around, people drive cars, ride bikes, fly in planes. People can talk to each other at the same time, even though they are tens of thousands of miles apart using phones or computers. Then there's the internet. You can find information on anything and everything, which, sadly, in my time has started to make libraries rather obsolete. But everything is suddenly at one's fingertips. We even go to the moon," and she paused for a moment as she sat down on an obliging bench, tilting her head back a bit so she could take in the stars above them.

"But in my day," she continued with a new kind of solemnity, "people become colder, detached, calloused, and self-absorbed. They lack courage and honor, and love becomes more of a fairy tale than a reality."

The Count had stopped his walk through the labyrinth of graves, his eyes now fixed on Hera as she spoke. Something strange passed through his body as he observed her from a distance, staring blankly in front of her. He could feel his feet moving him silently towards her, but his boots never seemed to touch the ground, for the frozen leaves never crunched beneath his weight.

The vampire stopped behind her, observing this woman in utter silence.

Despite her uncanny wit and brilliant smile, he sensed that a part of her had died, once upon a time. A piece of her had been stolen, leaving a chasm in her soul – her heart broken, the damage irreparable.

To a degree, he understood what that felt like.

The Count could recall many a time he had foolishly opened himself up on those rare occasions, and how every time he was left disillusioned and jaded. Though it was far easier to remain calloused and frigid towards others, that self-imposed isolation never healed the pain, but instead it had allowed it to fester.

Then there was Hera.

She had experienced disappointment of the heart more times than he, and she had not shut herself off emotionally from the world. She had not claimed to be hollow as he had done for centuries.

No, it was because she was a woman, and as a sage writer had once put it through the lips of a heroine, _the only privilege I claim for my own sex is that of loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone._

Yes, for Hera, even though experience told her to give up the childish quest of finding her happily-ever-after, a part of her still dared to believe, to hope, and it in that moment that Count Dracula – for the first time in his life – genuinely believed a woman to be stronger than he was.

Hera's implicit trust was her weakness, but it was her strength as well, and he loved her for it.

Finally sitting down beside her on the bench, facing the opposite direction in which she did, he led her eyes to his, tenderly holding her chin with his fingers.

"Oh, that more women were like you, Hera Garret," he said, the back of his leather clad fingers caressing her cheek.

She blushed and turned her head away.

"What? Overly trusting? Vulnerable and compliant? Hopeful to a fault? I am weak, by the world's standards, Count. Do not wish for more women to be like me."

He caught her gaze once more, gently, but firmly leading her face to turn with his fingers.

"You are from a time where so many clearly celebrate rigidity over feeling," he explained. "Your sex in particular has been suffering from that for ages – always trying to be more calloused like men, when most men secretly wish they could be more like you. It is a very brave and difficult thing to be both tender and strong."

"And this is coming from the man who claims emotions make one weak?" she mused.

"I thought emotions made one weak because I got hurt and instead of picking myself up and brushing myself off, I let that pain fester, channeling that anger until it became the fuel that drove my every selfish action. I punished the world and cursed God for what had happened to me, instead of suffering it in silence for a day or two and then choosing to move on with my life. But you…" and he ran his gloved fingertips over her lips thoughtfully.

"You are the strongest woman I have ever met. Yes, your faith in others may be your weakness, but it is your strength as well. You trust those who the world would condemn. You seem to find your way into the hearts of those who would sooner use you than…than love you," and his eyes shifted downward. "I have struggled with sentimentality for centuries," he confessed to her, "always thinking that if I could be rid of things like love and hope and faith, I would be able to withstand everything. It was so much easier _not_ to feel anything than to feel _everything_."

He took one of her hands in both of his, staring at it intently.

"But you proved me wrong," he said, his voice nearly inaudible, as if subconsciously in fear that the dead would hear him. "Nothing I could have done would have prepared me for you, for what you've brought out in me," and he glanced up at her noticing how she had been staring at their hands as well. "Despite my many imperfections, Hera, you seem to have brought out the man who could have been, the man I thought had died centuries ago."

Her eyes finally found his, the woman's gaze piercing his soul.

He could hardly believe he was doing this, allowing himself to be so vulnerable, permitting himself to make such confessions. But he couldn't seem to stop himself, and what he said next was so out of character, it not only took Hera by surprise, but himself as well.

"I love you, Hera Kali Garret," he breathed, tenderly running his thumb over her mouth as he held her face in both of his hands. "I love you for your confidence in me, for your blind faith, your wit and strength, and for your intelligence, which may arguably surpass my own," and he said that with a smile, loving how she chuckled at his comment.

"I love you for your smile," he said affectionately. "For how weak and defenseless you sometimes make me feel, for how when I'm around you, I feel like you're my equal. I can honestly admit that I've never felt like this before for anyone. But I do for you."

Hera still hadn't said a word, but she didn't need to. The tears that were beginning to gather at her lower lash line told him everything that he needed to know.

"I'm sorry I never told you sooner. I wanted to. But… you frightened me, spitfire," he chuckled, resting his brow against hers as Hera laughed through her tears.

" _I_ frightened _you_?" she questioned, clearly unconvinced.

"Yes, you did," he replied. "You terrified me because you created things in me I had never felt before. That night I shared your bed, you had awoken something in me that I could not suppress – a passionate admiration and regard. I have replayed every instant of that evening in my mind for weeks now and I don't think I'll ever fully recover from it. I had wanted to lie with you for months, and the more I denied myself of being with you, the more I realized I had wanted it. I wanted to please you more than anything else in this world. That was all I wanted. Before you, it had always been for myself…"

"Yes," she managed. "I know how selfish you can be," and she added that with a smile.

"And you know me to be capable of far worse than _that_ ," he teased. Silence lingered for just a moment and then he sighed. "Hera, what I feel for you has evolved far beyond merely wanting you. I would do _anything_ to keep you."

She grabbed one of the hands that held her face and removed the leather glove, only to ardently press her lips against his palm.

"I love you," she whispered.

He led her eyes to meet his once more, wrapping an arm around her so he could be closer to her.

"And I you," he said.

"You've always had a piece of my heart, even before I met you."

Dracula tenderly caressed the tip of his nose against hers.

"Let me have all of your heart, for you have all of mine," he then whispered, his mouth longing to brush against her own. Her lips quivered in anticipation.

"You already have it," came the breathless answer.

And then he kissed her.

The passion which started at a low burn intensified far quicker than either had anticipated as the Count's fingers got tangled in her hair and his mouth devoured her whole. Her hands squeezed his shoulders and then clung to the collar of his shirt as a sudden onslaught of lust pulsated between them.

Dracula wanted more.

He _needed_ more.

He felt everything tighten and harden in him as their kisses became hotter, the cold breeze from outside barely offering the slightest relief.

An animalistic growl vibrated in the vampire's solid chest as he consumed her, itching to run her home and ravish her senseless.

 _Hell_ he thought. _Forget about home. Let's do it_ _here_ _and_ _now_ and the more they kissed, the hotter and tighter that tension between them became.

The demon in Dracula's chest was awake and it wanted to take her… _he_ wanted to take her. He longed to please her, to love and worship her, and then he'd mark her once again. He could almost taste the pleasure in her blood.

The vampire didn't want to wait anymore.

He needed this woman _now_.

But no – it was too soon, too fast, and the rational part of his brain began to panic when he finally realized how much he had already lost control. Dracula became more consciously aware of how he held Hera in his arms, the way in which her body was pressed against his… how she was exactly where he wanted her to be. Her body was more than ready for him and he could feel that delicious fever of lust radiating off her flesh.

With her arm wrapped around his neck, the Count noticed one of her hands now sliding idly down the length of his chest. His hardening length screamed for her hand, straining against the confines of his pants and Dracula caught himself preparing to comply with its demands, one of his palms smoothing up the side of her thigh from beneath the skirt of her dress.

Fortunately, he managed to get control over himself before he dove in too deep.

It was too soon for that.

He had to at least wait one more day, just to be safe.

The kisses slowed, and with some struggle, the Count drew his face back to look into her eyes. Although the night was dark, he could see the flush in her cheeks, the heat of her heavy breath creating a lovely mist in the night air. He touched her face with the tips of his fingers, unaware that his lips were parted in a breathless awe as he stared deep into her eyes.

Three powerful words escaped his lips in a reverent hush as he kissed her forehead with a profound degree of tenderness and affection, and then he wrapped her up in his arms and smiled when he noticed how perfectly she fit in his embrace.

However, despite the tranquility they were now enjoying, the Count took notice as uneasy knots began to twist and form in his stomach. This was too dangerous, he thought to himself. But he didn't want to ruin this rare moment with her, so he pushed all thought and anxiety from his mind, eager to relish in the silence, to soak in the heat of her body as she sat there, contended in his arms. Although he longed to show her just _how_ much he truly desired her, with a deep sigh he told himself it would have to wait.

 _You're almost there, Vladislaus. It'll all be over soon_. _Just one more evening after tonight… just one more._

* * *

Hera and the Count returned to Vilkova in those wee hours of the early morning, the sky still dark as a new day awaited the rising of the sun. They had lingered in the graveyard for a couple of hours after their kiss, content with talking. The young woman was now alone in her private chambers, seated on the edge of her bed as the small clock on the nightstand chimed the morning hour of five, but she hardly heard it. Her mind was more agreeably engaged elsewhere.

What a night it had been.

Everything that had transpired played and then replayed through her mind, making permanent, everlasting impressions on her brain that she would cherish forever. The theater had been delightful, dinner – wonderful, and the conversations she had shared with the Count—unforgettable. But it was the events that had taken place in that beautiful, gothic cemetery that made her heart sing and her spirit soar.

He was in love with her.

Count Dracula was in love with _her_.

Not his brides, not some other woman… _her_.

A powerful round of chills made their way through Hera's body as she recalled his confession word for word, the look in his eyes, the beautifully human timidity and anxiety in his movements and expressions etched into her memory. Although she admired how strong he was, knowing that she had somehow weaved her way into the frozen stone of his heart made Hera melt as she fell back onto the bed in nothing but her underwear, too enthralled with this evening's events to bother changing completely.

That stupid grin was still plastered to her face.

He loved her.

He had always loved her.

Hera caught herself giggling softly like a schoolgirl, so excited she could scarcely keep it in.

Dracula loved her!

She wanted to scream it to the heavens!

So _this_ is what love feel like, she thought silently. That beautiful combination of giddy weightlessness and deep, profound caring and affection.

The woman realized now that all the times she had thought she was in love, none of those instances could compare to what she was experiencing in this moment. Not even Velkan had elicited such a reaction from her.

Hera reflected back to the fateful evening back in her time, that night in Hailey's living room… when she had tested God.

 _Show me the missing piece of my heart… help me understand…Show me… tell me in some way…who am I meant for?_

That's what she had said, and then she had seen the Count on the television screen – and then she was here, face to face with the other half of her soul. Everything that had happened to her, she concluded, had happened for a purpose. There was a reason why she saw the Count's face first that evening, why that chemistry between the two of them had been so palpable from the beginning, even with their differences.

Hera resolved that the reason why things had happened, why she had been sent back to this time could only be described thus: she was meant for the Count, and he for her.

It was the only explanation that made sense in her mind.

Maybe God, or Fate – whomever was responsible – had sent her here because she was meant for him and he for her.

Star-crossed lovers, separated over time and history, two halves of the same soul – united at last by a miracle. The mere suggestion of something so fantastical and yet so hopelessly romantic nearly brought Hera to tears.

She loved Count Dracula, and he her – and in that moment, alone in her bedroom within the Vilkova palace, nothing else mattered.

After lying in her underwear for a good few minutes just basking in her bliss, Hera finally finished dressing for bed. Even as she snuggled beneath the covers in the darkness of her bedroom, she continued to feel as though she had wings, her heart fluttering, her body and soul – weightless.

As she eventually dozed off into a deep, relaxing sleep, she dreamt of the Count coming to her just before the dawn, the remainder of the moonlight streaming through the window and over the bed as he removed his boots, stockings, jacket and shirt before climbing into bed beside her as she slept. And then he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, whispering sweet, beautiful words in his native tongue into the crown of her head.

Whether or not it was a dream or a whimsical reality, she hardly cared. All that mattered was the incomprehensible sense of peace, joy, and serenity that now flowed through her veins.

She was in love.

She was _loved_ in return, and by a man whom she had once believed to have only existed in her wildest dreams.

* * *

 _You are a fool, Vladislaus_ , that familiar voice taunted in the back of the Count's mind; but he ignored his cruel conscience, shoving the nagging voice into some remote corner of his brain so he could relish in the tranquility that he found in Hera as she snuggled into his chest.

 _I don't care,_ he thought to himself, a small, rare smile curving his lips as he kissed Hera's temple with the greatest of reverence. _I don't care anymore_.


	44. A Powerful Hunger

**This chapter... oh this chapter... this chapter marks the peak of Dracula's battle with his inner demons. That "back-up plan for Hera" that has been mentioned with purposeful vagueness throughout the whole story... it gets unveiled in this chapter. I had considered changing the nature of this back-up plan from what it was in the original, but chose to keep it because it's such an integral part of the story from here on out, so if it seems obvious or cliched or whatever... just... bear with me. Remember, I originally wrote this story something like 7 or 8 years ago.**

 **DISCLAIMER: this chapter also contains some scenes of a sexual nature that may make a few of you a tad uncomfortable** (I know it did in the original) **. It's nothing _that_ scandalous. In fact, I think after most of you read it, you'll probably look at me and say "that's it?" But I remember when I first posted this chapter, several of my original readers were shocked I had posted something like this because it was something they had never seen in a VH fanfic before. Whatever. You've been warned. And now that I've made all of you nervous... **

**HUGE thank you to those who reviewed yesterday!** She-Devil Red **,** Scarlet Empress **,** RegencyPoet **,** Bloodsired **,** BornRose2 **,** alexc1209 **,** violetrose18 **,** the invisible reader **,** 12345678910 **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** Cosmopolitan Countess **,** AnimeFan001 **,** Nyx-Arae **,** Kiriari **,** bloodyrose2014 **, and** ShadowSpade **. You guys are so awesome and I adore you and even though I am so unbelievably burned out when it comes to editing/working on this story, I continue to do so for you because you guys are all so flipping amazing and you deserve something of quality** (which I am so desperately trying to give you) **.**

 **Would really appreciate your feedback on this chapter! The next one is a doozy...**

* * *

 **XLIV**

 _ **A Powerful Hunger**_

The emblem of day began to sink below the horizon in a gradual submission as the moon took her position in the twilight. As the sun retreated behind the towering Mátra Mountains, the sky was then painted a luxurious and mystical black, with hues of blue and violet, diamond stars encrusted into a sea of rich velvet.

The incomparable light of the full harvest moon grew brighter with every passing second of the brightest star's withdrawal, its light creeping through a heavy pair of drapes that seemed to split apart of their own accord, the high-paned windows that led out onto the terrace opening slowly, as if willed to do so.

The evening air slipped into the room, carrying a soft aroma of the mountains to the east, and the city of Budapest to the west. The moonlight pushed its way through the break in the curtains, only to stop and rest in a soft pillar on a bed.

Its light gently illuminated the pale skin of a muscular arm that was draped over the curve of a feminine waist. The arm moved up to a broad shoulder, which then spread to a powerful chest, strong back, and columned neck. The presence of the moonlight penetrated the comforting darkness, stirring the dark-haired man from his pleasant slumber.

The Count's brow creased slightly from the disturbance before he peeled his eyelids back, the brilliant azure of his irises casting a barely noticeable glow. For a fleeting moment he forgot where he was, but the instant he realized who was sleeping beside him, he remembered, and his lips twitched with a faint smile.

His grip on Hera's waist tightened as he pulled the slumbering mortal's warm body closer to his before burying his face into the disarray of her hair with a content sigh. _She smells divine_ he thought to himself, inhaling deeply. His actions did not awaken her from her slumber, even as he caged her body with his arm and leg that now rested over her thigh. The human unconsciously melted into his hold, as if she knew it were he.

Her involuntary submission awoke a tightening sensation in the Count's groin, sending a deep pulsation of pleasure through his hard body and a small rumble of approval vibrated in his chest.

He wanted her.

He wanted her _bad_.

The faint movement of her body as she snuggled closer to him whilst she continued to sleep caused her butt to rub against the unplanned erection and his eyes rolled shut as a dark, primal need came to life. The temptation to awaken her and make love to her till the dawn rapidly turned into an insistent need and it didn't take long for that hunger to course angrily through his veins. The demon within, the one which had been awoken by the feel of Hera's soft body, was now pacing furiously behind the cage of Dracula's chest, demanding it's needs be satiated.

But a single thought forced the vampire to abruptly silence the beast as he push himself away from the woman before him, immediately retreating from the bed as he realized what today was.

 _Happy Anniversary,_ a voice taunted in the back of his mind and he groaned softly as he took several steps back into the darkness of the room.

His eyes never left the innocently slumbering Hera who lay in the center of the bed, now on her back, her luxuriant mass of hair sprawled out over the pillows like a halo of fire, a look of contentment and peace on her seemingly angelic face.

She looked like sin itself, her knee slightly bent beneath the covers, the front of her nightgown having been pulled down somewhat from her unintentional movements, giving his greedy eyes a view of soft, unblemished cleavage. He licked his lips, his mind recalling what her skin tasted like and he felt the pressure starting to build at the base of his spine.

But he couldn't… Not to her.

Not tonight.

 _Especially_ not tonight.

There were consequences, consequences that just weren't worth the risk and before he could lose his nerve and before the demon within could convince him otherwise, he quickly dressed and exited the room in a silent blur of coat tails and black. His pace down the hall was relentless and full of anxiety.

"Why does it have to be now?" he muttered between gritted teeth. "Why couldn't it be while she was unconscious or when she was away and living with Anna?" and he made a turn down the hall towards the stairs.

"I hate this curse," he continued aloud, although his voice remained hushed. "I'll admit, I can deal with everything else. I love being a vampire. It's what I am, it's _who_ I am. But _this!_ Why do I have to be like this one week every hundred years? I mean, yes it could be worse. I could be fertile with _every_ woman I come across every single day. But why _now_ , damn you?"

He marched down the stairs, frustration in his every step.

"Why is it that after all these years, four centuries of not being able to find a mortal that is totally and completely willing, that I find one who is not only willing, but is _in love_ with me, and I with her? And the fact that I can't _tell_ her… I…"

He stopped in his tracks and just stood in the center of the staircase, staring blankly into the distance, his expression etched in a kind of hopeless despair as if his very soul were rent down the middle.

The deal that Dracula had made with the devil all those centuries ago included a certain part of the pact that he never really cared about, let alone understood the purpose for – until Hera had stumbled into his life.

Every hundred years, during the week of his anniversary of being resurrected and given new life, if he slept with an emotionally and physically _willing_ mortal who was wholly ignorant of this part of his curse, she would bear his child. The child would be part vampire, part human. Until the child came of age, it could be killed by the usual methods that often led to the true death of a vampire. But as soon as the offspring had finished its maturation, he or she would not only be immune to those usual vampire deterrents, but they could convert and breed with other vampires, his or her children being just like them: immune to vampire allergens and more powerful than any being on this earth.

They would spread like a disease upon the land, since each pregnancy would last a matter of days and the bearer of the babe could easily conceive more than one child at a time.

The pregnancy of whomever _Dracula_ impregnated, according to legend, would instead of lasting nine months, only last nine days. Tonight was the last evening of his week-long anniversary period and he had been avoiding sex with Hera since it had started, simply because he couldn't force her to go through that. Not only did he not want to get her pregnant without her consent, but the delivery of such a child was supposed to be so intensive, there was a tremendous risk of the mother dying in the process.

When Hera had first crossed his path, the original plan had been to seduce her and then use her for this very purpose as she could give him living children wherein his brides had proved failures as their offspring were born dead. Dracula had once been possessed with the need for world domination, and the idea of Hera bearing him such a child had once appealed to him greatly.

Now that he was on the verge of accomplishing what he had worked so hard to achieve – it just wasn't worth the risk anymore.

But having her under the same roof as him seemed to make the situation all the worse. If he could just tell her the details of this precarious situation, perhaps that would have made things easier. And yet, part of the curse clearly stated that he wasn't allowed to speak of it to any mortal ever, or said mortal would surely die.

Dracula had yearned for a living child of his own flesh and blood for an age and to have Hera as the mother was perfection in his mind, but this sudden conscience which was born out of his love for her – he couldn't do it.

So what was he to do?

Dracula had always hated not having control over a situation, and right now was no different.

He wouldn't be able to withstand the urges he knew would come later on in the evening. The raging beast within, when in heat, was impossible to restrain, and should he come in contact with Hera, he'd be past the point of no return.

She'd willingly submit, and he'd take her without as much as a thought. He knew he would.

The Count slumped down and took a seat on the staircase, trying to think of _something_ he could do.

Since tonight was the last night of this torturous period, the urges would be literally insatiable.

From experience, he was certain it would drive him to act irrationally. If he wanted to spare Hera, he needed to stay away from her tonight. Just thinking about her lying upstairs in that bed and all alone made him hard, and the lingering of her scent on his clothes wasn't helping either. He buried his face in his hands and exhaled loudly, muttering an uncharacteristic appeal to the heavens for strength repeatedly until he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

He looked up to see Jane standing in front of him. She and the other servants had arrived shortly after Hera had retired to bed the night before, and the presence of Jane, in particular, he found especially reassuring as he'd need her help now tonight more than ever before. Someone had to keep Hera away from him and she had always been extremely resourceful.

"Master? Is something the matter?"

Dracula said nothing.

He only regarded the servant with a rare and nearly foreign look of a lost child. That gaze told her everything she needed to know as her expression became grave.

Her master had never appeared so human to her before.

"Oh," was all she said. "Where is she?"

"Upstairs in her bedroom. She's still asleep."

"I see. What… What would you have me do, my lord? If there is indeed anything I _can_ do."

"Until Verona or Aleera arrive, there really is nothing that _can_ be done," he said with a sigh. "I received word from Verona before I retired, however. She said she, Aleera, and Velkan were in pursuit of Van Helsing and Anna. Apparently they found the monster and must pass through Budapest on their way to Rome."

Jane smiled.

"Well master, that's wonderful news!" she exclaimed. "The monster is alive?"

Clearly Dracula wasn't too thrilled with the report. If anything, he appeared disappointed, or apathetic at the very least.

"Apparently," he answered dryly.

He had much bigger problems before him presently and Jane quickly realized this, her smile fading as she watched him rise to his feet.

"Jane, I am not to be disturbed by anyone for the remainder of the evening," he ordered resolutely. " _Especially_ by Hera."

"Naturally, master. I shall inform her when she awakes."

"She is to remain indoors and under supervision at all times. The city at night is no place for an unchaperoned woman, especially with more of our kind arriving for the masque this weekend."

"Of course."

"Speaking of which, I took the liberty of contacting Bozsidán last night. He should be arriving within the hour to drop off some dresses for Miss Garret to try on for the masquerade this weekend. Please help her decide which she would wish to wear and make sure it's fitted properly."

"As you wish."

"And Jane?" he called before turning down a darkened hall that led to a secluded set of private chambers.

"Yes, master?"

He pointed at her for a moment and then recoiled as if he were indecisive. Clearly laboring over his words, something he _rarely_ did, he pleaded:

"Keep her away from me. For my sake and her own… keep…" he struggled, but pushed the words out, "keep her away from me, Jane. I beg you. I… I don't want to hurt her."

The housekeeper nodded her head, bowing.

The Count fought to keep his face emotionless, but the pain in his eyes was evident. He was aching and just the thought of Hera made him crave some kind of reprieve, but he knew deep down he wouldn't get it.

"I shall do my best, my lord, but… are you sure you wish to stay in the house?"

"I cannot risk going into the city and drawing the kind of attention my coming state would attract."

"I understand. Shall I fetch anything for your aid, then, master? Perhaps a few of the ladies in the city?"

"No. I don't want anyone else. I only want…" but the Count couldn't even utter her name without the demon inside of him growling indignantly.

The only aid that would ever help him would be Hera, and he didn't have the heart to inflict any more pain on her than she had already endured. When he gave Jane his answer, she acknowledged him with a look of solemnity and pity, watching as he quickly retreated to his chambers, locking the doors from within.

Upon entering the room, Dracula clutched one of the posts of his bed in the darkness in an effort to keep himself upright, the very distance between Hera and himself stealing his breath. His clawed fingers dug into the polished wood as he strained to keep from grabbing the cursed organ that was now throbbing within his trousers.

Somehow, he found the strength to resist the urge to force a release out of him, knowing that relenting would only make things worse, but he knew he wouldn't be able to withstand the temptation for long. He just had to survive the next several hours, until the hour of midnight. Then he would be free for the next hundred years.

Yet still, the question remained – would he be strong enough to keep himself away from Hera until then?

* * *

Hera awoke an hour after sunset, the dim light in the fireplace adding a soothing glow to the room as she rolled over and sighed, a pleased smile curving her lips. What a remarkable sleep she had had. She had never felt so rested in her life.

After stretching beneath the linens, she sat up, noticing immediately that the other side of the mattress looked slept in, the sheets beneath the blankets still bearing the imprint of another body. Curiosity getting the better of her, and having her own suspicions, she leaned forward and inhaled the pillows beside her deeply, only to sigh dreamily when she recognized the scent—Dracula.

Dracula had been here and the thought of him crawling into bed beside her as she slept made the woman want to swoon. She fell onto her back on the bed and giggled.

 _He loves me_ she thought, smiling brilliantly. _Vladislaus loves me_.

Sitting up, she grabbed the pillow that smelled like him and buried her face in it before letting out a powerful scream, unable to keep in her excitement for a moment longer. The moment she stopped, she moved the pillow away from her face, only to notice that several lights in the room had been lit, and Jane was roaming about, turning on the rest before throwing open the drapes to all the windows.

"Good evening to you, too, Miss Garret," the servant teased. "I hope that wasn't a shriek of frustration."

Hera chuckled and fell back onto the bed.

"Quite the contrary. It was a cry of utter joy," and she rolled off the mattress and onto the floor, dancing about the room as if she were waltzing on clouds. "I feel so alive, Jane," she exclaimed, throwing open the terrace windows and soaking in the frigid night air. "I've never felt this way in my life!"

She then spun around quickly, following the housekeeper with her eyes, watching as she made the bed.

"Where's the Count?"

Jane did her best to keep the smile on her face, but it wasn't without difficulty. She had to remind herself that Hera wasn't to know of the situation… that she _didn't_ know.

"I ran into him earlier this evening," Jane explained casually. "Unfortunately, he has a great deal of work to get done this evening and won't be able to keep you company until after midnight. The master has insisted that no one disturb him, including you. He's asked that I extend his apologies."

Hera's smile fell a little.

"Oh." When Jane nodded, Hera persisted. "What kind of work?"

"I don't know the nature of the master's business, Miss Garret, though I assume it may have something to do with the masquerade ball this weekend. But if the master says that he doesn't wish to be disturbed, even by you, then he must be serious. I would advise that you pay heed to his wishes."

Hera nodded.

"No, of course Jane. I had no intention of doing otherwise. Besides, if I only have to wait until after midnight, as you said, then it should only be a handful of hours. I'll survive," and she moved over to the other side of the bed so she could help the servant finish with making it. "Did he say exactly how long after midnight?" she inquired.

"I don't believe so, miss. Hopefully shortly after, although considering the nature of his work, he may be ill company. Worst case scenario – you won't be seeing him until tomorrow evening."

"Oh."

Jane observed the evident disappointment in Hera's features, and though it pained her to have to lie to the woman, it was for the best. Hera would thank her for it, if and when she ever found out the truth.

"So the question now remains," the servant continued, "what do we do this evening?"

Hera shrugged.

"I don't know," she sighed, taking a seat in the chaise lounge by the fire as Jane pulled out some clothes for Hera to change into.

Nothing really sounded that appealing to the young woman right now. All she wanted to do was be with the Count. She found that being denied his company made her feel achy, and in a way his absence never had before.

She should have noticed the change in herself, but she didn't.

"Well, why don't you come downstairs with me, we'll have the cook fix you up something to eat and we can think of things for you to do this evening? Hmm?" Jane offered.

Hera smiled and offered her consent with a nod, quickly changing out of her nightclothes before leaving the bedroom. In compliance with Jane's query, the two were soon chatting wildly about Hera's evening with the Count the night before.

* * *

Dracula groaned loudly as the deprivation began to take its toll on him, his entire body raw and aching, begging for the relief he denied himself time and time again.

He was curled up on the large bed, the linens torn and twisted, his shirts and jacket on the floor. Laced in a thin sheen of sweat, he fought and struggled with himself as the need became more and more powerful.

The sound of laughter suddenly caught his attention, interrupting his torment and his ears perked up.

It was Hera.

That was Hera laughing.

He calmed instantly at the sound, crawling to his knees and hugging the post of the bed as he listened, using his heightened senses to pick up her heartbeat. She was in the kitchen with Jane and Emma. The three women were discussing something, but he hardly cared about the topic.

The thought of Hera brought him peace, the sound of her voice soothed his nerves – but the reprieve lasted for only a short time.

Soon enough, that sound no longer pacified him, but caused the ache to start up once more. He held onto the bedpost, wrapping his long fingers around the lovingly carved wood, digging his nails into it as the demon thrashed within him again.

Memories—flashes of them—danced in his mind's eye.

He recalled the one evening he had shared with Hera back in Castle Dracula, when he had made love to her. He could feel her beneath his body, how he stretched and filled her. He could taste her sweat, smell her arousal, hear her grunts and moans, could feel how her nails scored his back. Everything in his mind was wet, rhythmic, and hot.

The throbbing of his cock intensified with every minute that passed and soon, he could bear the denial no longer. There was only one way to find relief from this agony, but his conscience forbade him to leave the room. So he unlaced his pants, clenched his eyes shut, and grabbed himself, moving his hand in a pumping motion, imagining it was Hera's hand.

Within a matter of moments, the orgasm came and a feeling of calm swept through his body as the shaft in his palm went flaccid and the ripples of pleasure pulsated through him. He fell back onto the bed, panting.

It was done.

The useless breath that escaped his lips slowed as the waves gradually came to a halt. Dracula opened his eyes, waiting for a relapse, but none came.

He dared to expel a sigh of relief as the silence washed over him.

Perhaps it was done?

But when his mind took note of Hera's heartbeat once again, he felt himself go hard and he muttered an oath of frustration, a plea for mercy swelling in his breast as his sexual need intensified, growing ten times stronger than what it had been just moments before. He glanced over at the clock on his wall as his senses were too out of wack to detect the time.

It had only been two hours since he had left Hera's room… _Just two hours?_ He groaned inwardly.

Tonight would be the longest night of his life.

He just knew it.

* * *

The two servants and the human laughed hysterically as Emma blew a kiss to the footman who had come in for a quick meal. His mood wasn't always the best and the women had taken to teasing him, finding great amusement in how he flushed in embarrassment before exiting with a huff.

The three females were all seated around the island in the middle of the kitchen as Hera ate her meal, both Emma and Jane keeping her company. Jane had rather discretely informed Emma of the situation and the younger maid offered her assistance in distracting the mortal for the evening.

Naturally, being around Hera was more of a privilege than anything else. It certainly beat the mundane of doing chores; that was for certain.

"So back to the story," Emma insisted. "What happened next? After dinner?"

Hera took another bite of food before continuing the tale.

"Well, he decided we'd walk home," Hera began.

"What? He made you walk in those shoes?" Emma asked.

"Good heavens, no. I had slipped those off as soon as we hit the grass of the hill," she explained. "But he reached over for my hand again…" the two servants gave that all too feminine _aww_ , which earned another giggle from Hera who continued her story, "… yes. And he took me up to the cemetery. You know, the one up behind the palace."

"Yes. We know it very well. There used to be a large church where this palace now sits. A few of the original walls still stand," Jane explained.

"She doesn't care about the history of the architecture, Jane!" Emma replied, but Hera just smiled.

"Actually, I _love_ history. But we can save that for later."

"Yes, tell us more," Emma said excitingly. Jane sent the maid a look, but the woman just smiled. "What? The master's brides _never_ talk to us about anything and I don't know about you, but I can't remember the last time the master was _this_ romantic with _anyone!_ "

Jane chuckled and looked back over at Hera.

"You may continue, my dear."

"Right. Well, he took me up to the graveyard and we started talking. He asked me questions about my time period, what it was like… and the next thing I knew he was sitting beside me, telling me he loved me."

"Really?" Emma sighed.

Hera nodded.

"Yes. And how he said it was so… it was so beautiful and genuine, clearly not rehearsed in the slightest. I could tell by the way he fumbled with his words and what not."

"The master fumbled with his words?" Jane asked, clearly as astonished as Emma was. The looks on their faces were priceless.

"Yes. And though it was a bit uncharacteristic of him, it was so sweet. He told me he loved me, and then," Hera could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks.

"Did he kiss you?" Emma asked, on the edge of her seat. Hera leaned back, a dreamy look in her eyes as if she were playing the entire thing over again in her mind.

"Yes," was her whimsical response. "Oh I wish I could explain it to you. It makes me melt just thinking about it!"

"He must really love you," Jane replied with a knowing look in her eyes. "Of all the years I've known him, I've never heard, let alone seen him act in the way he does around you. He's become a different man since you stumbled into his life."

Hera felt her cheeks grow hot at the compliment.

"So, did anything… uh… happen after he kissed you?" Emma suddenly asked. "I want every detail."

"Emma, child, don't be vulgar!" Jane laughed. "I swear, you and those tasteless dime novels."

Hera laughed.

"It's alright, Jane. Actually, no. We didn't sleep together. He did show me Ilona's grave, though. And then his father's, and his brothers. He said he had their bodies removed from the original graves and had the remains transported to Budapest so his family could all be in the same place…"

"Yes, I remember when he did that," came Jane's reply. "It was quite the controversy."

Silence lingered for just a moment or two between the women before Jane finally stood from her seat, heading towards the door.

"Well, I better go see if Bozsidán has dropped off the gowns the master ordered for you. Best you finish up your meal, Miss Garret," and she excused herself from the kitchen.

Now, more than ever, was Hera truly grateful she had the stomach of a goat, metaphorically speaking of course, as the meal Emma had concocted had been delicious and rather excessive in size. As she finished her food, she glanced over at the maid who looked like she was trying to be busy by washing the dishes.

"Do you need help with that?" Hera asked, as soon as she was finished. Emma's eyes remained lowered as a sheepish grin curved her pale lips.

"I usually don't do the dishes. I've always had laundry and dusting duties… things like that."

Hera nodded in understanding, placing her dishes in the sink and taking Emma's hands out of the warm, soapy water.

"I can tell," she teased. "Come on. Leave that for Frida. Don't want to be doing her job for her. Let's head to the library and see if we can find something for me to read while I pretend to be your dress up doll for the evening," and the two left the room, talking and laughing amongst themselves, the sound echoing through the halls.

* * *

Dracula let out a full on growl, his fangs lengthened and talons extended as he gripped the tattered mattress that he had literally torn to shreds. He was strewn about what remained of the bed, completely naked, his taut, pale skin glistening with sweat in the dimly lit chamber. After the howl in his throat died, he gasped for air, tears of unspeakable anguish streaming down his face as he fought with his hand, not wanting to force a release from himself any more.

It only made it worse… he _knew_ it did, and yet every time the aching need neared its peak, he would reach for himself and force the cursed orgasm out of him. He'd obtain only instants of relief and then the vicious cycle would start back up again.

He had been at this for what felt like years, but had only been maybe a few hours max. The Count's body was flexed, tense, and exhausted with the struggle. He had gone through this before, had experienced periods of heat or needing just like any other vampire, but _this_ … this was hell.

He wasn't allowed to obtain the relief his body so desperately craved.

Instead, he was forced to suffer through the denial, his body's repercussions so much more violent than he ever imagined them to be. He cried in frustration as he sank his claws into another pillow, tearing it to pieces, feathers flying everywhere as he continued to try to keep his hands busy so he wouldn't grab himself again.

He was so tired of this fight, his strength and willpower nearly depleted. Dracula continued to twist and thrash on the bed, grabbing hold of the bedpost with both hands in desperation.

But that laughter.

Hera's sweet, beautiful laughter was moving down the hall above him and although he shouldn't have heard it, his senses were heightened in ways that otherwise wouldn't have been possible. He could feel her heart pumping all that fresh blood through her veins like it was pounding in his head; he could hear her melodic voice as if she were in the same room; her scent seemed to have embedded itself into his skin and was now all over the bed, the gorgeous aroma making his suffering all the worse.

He needed her.

He _wanted_ her….

Only she could give him what he so desperately craved and just that thought in itself nearly had him on his feet, heading towards the door, but he caught himself the moment his foot went to touch the floor and he recoiled immediately. He backed as far away from the door as he possibly could, willing the remaining furniture in the room to block his only exit out.

He wasn't going to touch her.

He would not do that to her, he would not!

He grabbed his head and let out a loud sob as he doubled over, the overpowering scent of his heat and needing a powerful fume that he was certain was now saturating the house. He pleaded with any deity that would listen that Jane and Emma were keeping Hera as far away from him as they could.

And more importantly, that he'd be able to last the remaining few hours until midnight.

* * *

"What about a Jane Austen novel?" Emma called from the second floor of the library, leaning over the railing to look down at Hera, who was rummaging through the books on the main floor.

"No. I'm not in the mood," she muttered to herself. "Keep looking!"

Emma nodded, continuing to thumb through the books.

Hera moved down the row, eyeing the hundreds of titles with vague interest. As she walked, naturally her thoughts turned to Dracula. She wondered what he was working on that was so important that she wasn't even permitted to so much as know _where_ he was.

The woman grumbled something incoherent beneath her breath as she ran her fingers aimlessly over the bindings.

She missed him.

Sure, she hadn't seen him since last night after they had arrived home and she had retired to bed, but it had felt like ages… eons.

With a restless sigh, she leaned against the bookcase, wanting more than anything to ditch Emma to go and look for Dracula. It was only ten in the evening, but surely if he had been up before her, he would not object to a brief interruption from whatever it was he was doing?

The human inhaled deeply as if to sigh, when she caught a whiff of something she had not noticed before – a strange, seductive spice in the air that she could not place, but the scent made something primitive within her click. She breathed in that intoxicating aroma once again so she could get a better taste of whatever it was.

The air that filled her lungs as she did so warmed her all the way down to her toes and without even realizing it, she was soon wandering out of the rows of books and into the main sitting area towards the exit. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her subconscious faintly wondered where that delicious smell was coming from, and why the presence of it made her so damn horny all of a sudden.

The fragrance, although faint, seemed to ensnare her senses as if it were a phantom, possessing and beckoning… calling to her. She was about to open the door when Emma abruptly appeared between Hera and the exit, a slightly panicked look on her face. Before the mortal could inquire as to what was wrong or what that smell was, Emma shoved a book in front of her.

" _The Illiad_ ," she said quickly.

Hera shook her head slightly as if to dispel a bout of sluggishness.

"What?"

" _The Illiad_ ," the maid repeated. "Read that one. I love Achilles and Hector, the battle of Troy, the idea of sexy, half-naked men running around killing each other. Read this one."

The sound of the vampire's voice seemed to pull Hera back into the present and she smiled somewhat as she accepted the offered book, temporarily distracted.

"Okay," was her mildly suspicious response as she flipped open the thick volume, thumbing through its pages. "I've read this before numerous times. Do you have anything else? Maybe some Russian literature?"

"Hmm, we don't have a lot of that. There are some nice French novels though, and Jane says you speak French beautifully."

"Do you have any Gustave Flaubert?"

"I think the master has a copy of _Madame Bovary_. Have you read that one before?"

"I have, but it's been a while. I can read that one, if you wish."

"Excellent!" Emma replied, materializing into the stacks for a just a few seconds before reappearing with the book in her hand. "Shall we?"

Suddenly the library doors flew open and in walked Jane, the most horrifically concerned expression on her face. The moment those doors opened, however, more of that unknown scent from earlier flooded the room and Hera's senses were assaulted, the aroma instantly saturating her brain.

What she didn't know was it was the Count's heat, a pheromonal call to all mortal females that were within the vicinity of him, although in this particular situation, it was meant specifically for Hera.

The woman felt a coiling in her womb as if something primal and unseen was pleading for her and for the oddest reason, she wanted to heed that call. Jane took notice and quickly put on a smile in hopes that she'd be able to pull Hera back into reality.

"Your gowns are in your bedchambers, Miss Garret. Shall we get you fitted?" and without waiting for a word of consent, the servant grabbed Hera's hand, briskly pulling her towards the opposite end of the palace in the direction of her bedroom.

"Wait," Hera called. "What…" and she breathed in deeply, this strange, addicting sensation of utter bliss making its way through her body, as if the only thing she could feel was that curling heat in her groin and the onslaught of butterflies in her stomach. "What is that beautiful smell?"

Emma sent Jane a worried look and Jane's pace quickened, her grip on Hera's wrist like iron; if the mortal got too close to the Count, there was no going back.

He would take her, Hera would blindly and willingly let him, and there would be nothing Jane or Emma or even the devil himself could do to stop it.

"What smell?" Jane asked, her eyes pleading with Emma to at least pretend nothing was wrong. The girl, fortunately, caught on.

"Yeah. I don't smell anything," she lied.

Hera started to pull against Jane's powerful grip.

"It smells divine," Hera whined. "Oh _god!_ " and she tried to free her hand.

Her skin was crawling wildly, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, goose-pimples blanketing her arms, legs, and back as the scent of the Count's heat devoured her. She could almost feel it entering her nose and mouth, running down the back of her throat and shooting out like wildfire through her veins from the capillaries in her neck, over her shoulders, down her arms and back, all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes and breasts.

It was like being cold and stepping underneath the drizzle of warm water, soaking into her scalp and running over her skin.

The sensation was the most beautiful thing the mortal had ever felt, like a small fraction of what an orgasm was like, that slight tension and excitement before the feeling of release, the tingle, the sparks – only on a smaller scale. Hera could feel her nipples tightening, her sex engorging with heat and she let out a moan.

"Please, let me go," she gasped, a heavy erotic undertone in her voice. "It wants me," she kept saying. "Let me go to it. Let me go to it... _it wants me... it needs me_..."

"Emma, _dear,_ could you _please_ run ahead and open all the windows in Hera's bedroom? It's awfully stuffy in there and needs to be aired out… _now_ ," which basically translated to "air the room out of the Count's heat before we get there."

Emma vanished into thin air the instant the command was given, leaving Jane to drag the mortal down the hall and up another flight of stairs, desperate to get her to the one place she'd be safe: her bedroom. There, they could lock the doors and air out the chamber so the smell wouldn't get to her.

After much difficulty, the two finally arrived. Jane was very pleased to see that Emma had not only followed her instructions, but had had the mind to light some incense and stoke the fire so it was now blazing, not only battling the chill of the night air that was entering through the windows, but also masking what remained of the Count's pheromones.

The moment they were inside, Jane quickly shut and locked the door as Hera stood there leaning against the wall, dazed and staring blankly ahead of her.

The smell finally dissipated as Emma fanned a blanket by the window and Hera gradually emerged from the stupor she had been in. She made a curious expression before reaching for her face, rubbing the spell out of her eyes.

"What happened?" she asked, dreadfully confused. "How did we… why are we in my room?" and she sent Jane and Emma bewildered looks.

The two women smiled brilliantly, pretending as if nothing was the matter.

They were bloody good liars.

"Your dresses came in," Jane reminded her, motioning to the large boxes that were lined up along the wall.

With the clearing of the woman's throat, Emma took the hint of her superior and moved over to the boxes, opening them up one by one, revealing a rainbow of the most luxurious gowns Hera had ever seen. The human instantly forgot about whatever it was that had happened just moments ago as she covered her mouth in awe.

"Oh my God… these are _stunning!_ " the mortal exclaimed, moving quickly over to the boxes, watching as Jane and Emma removed each gown, laying them about the room over the furniture.

"Bozsidán is the finest dress maker in all of Budapest," the housekeeper answered with pride. "And probably the whole of Eastern Europe. The master rarely orders gowns from the man, seeing as how each one easily costs a fortune, and they are only ever ordered for _very_ special occasions."

"There's so many of them," Hera said, picking up a striking emerald gown, trimmed with black lace. She held it up against her body, moved by the beauty of the craftsmanship.

"Obviously he cares very little about price when it comes to you, Miss Garret," Emma replied.

Hera blushed.

"These aren't all mine, are they?" she asked. "I only get one, right?"

"They are all yours, miss. But you must choose one for the masque this weekend so we can get the gown fitted to your precise measurements," Jane explained.

Hera was moved by the Count's generosity, almost to the point of tears.

She couldn't help it; never before had anyone doted on her like the Count did. He adored her, cared deeply when it came to her pleasure and satisfaction, and he clearly spared no expense when it came to spoiling her.

Hera was so used to the paternal kind of dotage she had received from her own excellent father, but this… this was something so much more profound and intimate than that.

She knew the Count was aware that he didn't have to buy her love, but the fact that he had gone through all this trouble to pick out such gorgeous gowns with _her_ and only _her_ in mind… it made her eyes sparkle.

"I don't even know where to begin," she replied, fingers hovering over her mouth. "Which one do you think he'd prefer?"

"I don't think that matters, miss, so long as you wear one of them," Emma laughed.

"What's his favorite color? Black?" and Hera picked up a beautiful ebony silk gown.

"Everyone will be wearing black," Emma explained. "But you are his and should dress as such. I think a dark maroon or violet would be gorgeous," and she held up two more dresses.

"The master has always been partial to women dressed in crimson," Jane suddenly chimed in, helping Hera out of her clothes.

Soon, the mortal was standing in the center of the rather chilly room in nothing but her undergarments as Jane lifted up the emerald gown Hera had been admiring earlier.

"There are some very ravishing looking gowns of that precise color," Jane continued, and she helped Hera into the rich green-colored number first, her strong, busy fingers snapping and lacing up the back of the dress before stepping back, both servants openly admiring the frock. "Although I'll have to agree with Emma; I don't think it matters what you wear, my dear. These will all look absolutely stunning on you."

The flush in Hera's cheeks deepened.

"What do you wish to do, miss?" Emma asked.

The woman didn't have to think twice about it. She already knew her answer.

"Let's try them all on," she announced excitedly as she twirled around, admiring herself in the mirror. "Each and every one."

* * *

He was gasping, panting.

The potent scent of his heat saturated the room. His body was hard from the tension in his muscles, his hand barely holding onto the shaft between his legs as he allowed his false release to soothe him for the time being. It had been six and a half hours since he had gotten up early this evening and left Hera's bedroom.

Freaking six and a half bloody hours.

He had endured this torture for so long now and he could feel his resolve slipping. He was so close to the finish line – just a measly forty minutes away and then it would all be over. But he couldn't do this anymore. Every time the ache started up again, he'd quickly force the release out of him. But it was getting to the point where not even _he_ could relinquish it, and he finally admitted to himself as that needing made its way through his veins once again that he could not win this battle.

Dracula groaned in despair as he removed his hand from his pulsating cock before curling into the fetal position on the bed, at war with what his body needed and what his heart was begging him not to do.

He couldn't do this to Hera, even though he _knew_ how willing she'd be if he asked or just took. The vampire bit his lip, burying his face into what was left of the linens as his emotions got the better of him, clenching his eyes shut as if he were on the verge of tears.

 _I don't want to hurt her,_ he thought to himself pitifully through his silent cries. _Please, don't make me do this to her… give me strength. I… I… I can't,_ and he covered his face in shame as he felt a power beyond his own will hijack his body, as if the very demon living inside of him were forcing him off the bed.

While he dressed, he pleaded silently in his mind and heart for mercy from anyone who would hear, but soon, only the need existed and it didn't matter what the Count wanted.

The curse came first now and it was running out of time.

All emotion was absent from his face as his lack of resistance allowed the lust to course freely through his veins. Unable to withstand the temptation to embrace his more primal urges, his mind began to rationalize the situation in a final attempt at damage control as he began to remove the barricade from the door.

 _I don't want to do this_ , part of him said. _I don't want to do this to Hera_.

 _She will forgive you, Vladislaus. She loves you_ , the demon within seemed to say.

 _I still don't want to do this to her. I wish there was some way to tell her… to warn her._

 _But there is no way. It must be done. See? I told you the dangers of falling in love with that human but you wouldn't listen! You never listen!_

 _I thought I could be strong for her_ , he thought hopelessly.

 _And you see the repercussions of your choices?_

 _I don't want to hurt her._

 _You won't hurt her, Vlad. Damn it, get a hold of yourself! She's just a human… just a senseless, pathetic, inconsequential human! Enjoy this, Vladislaus. She will give it to you willingly. Use her love for you as you had always intended. You've wanted a child for centuries, have you not?_

 _Of course I have_ , he thought as he made his way out of the room, fully dressed, his expression unreadable. _I've always wanted a child._

 _And don't you think this is the most perfect opportunity? Think of it, Vladislaus… she loves you. Hera loves you. We've established that._

 _Yes. We have._

 _And you would have asked her to be your wife eventually, wouldn't you?_

 _Of course I would. I'd have it no other way._

 _Then_ _this_ _is just speeding the process along, Vladislaus. Take what you need from her now and if you must save her from death, you can turn her at the last minute, and then she will truly be yours forever. You have nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. She is a woman, and a willing one at that. She is yours._

The phrase sounded deliciously sweet in his mind and his eyes darkened as a newfound purpose surged through him, that need, though no longer painful, still oh so present.

 _Mine_ , he thought to himself.

He began to ascend the stairs, the scent of his heat radiating from him in potent waves. The servants who _had_ noticed his emergence from the room never raised a word of protest as he headed into the direction of Hera's bedchambers. They all sank into the shadows, frightened of the power that was coming from their master, the set purpose and savage hunger in his darkening eyes.

Every light that met his shadow was extinguished.

The warmth in the palace seemed to freeze over as he passed by.

Darkness surrounded him now.

Nothing but sinful, licentious darkness.

It was frightening, and it was beautiful.

He was coming for Hera now and nothing in heaven nor hell could stop him.


	45. To Lose Control

**Well, I sacrificed my sleep last night to get this chapter to a place where I could be mostly satisfied with it. Is it perfect? No… but I'm not sure there is much else I could do to this chapter that I haven't already done. I've literally hacked it to pieces so many times now, I've lost count. I have tried to make this as tasteful as possible, while simultaneously taking the scene itself to a completely different level from what we had in chapter 31. You'll have to let me know if I did my job well or if I missed the mark entirely. Admittedly, I am extremely nervous. I don't know why I keep trying to balance completely different emotions and tones in the same setting. My muse is a freaking sadist. ;)**

 **DISCLAIMER: If you wish to avoid reading scenes with heavy sexual content, feel free to skip this one. But remember, this story is rated "M" for a reason. Proceed at your own risk. You have been warned.**

 **A huge thanks goes out to my beta,** _Sleepy Bibliophile_ **, who originally helped in this editing endeavor; whereas another thank you is owed to** _RegnecyPoet_ **, who helped me to fine-tune a few things. Hopefully all the hard work paid off.**

 **Many thanks to** Madam Silver **,** LostarielTuigalen **,** alexc1209 **,** She-Devil Red **,** Scarlet Empress **,** Countess **,** violetrose18 **,** BornRose2 **,** the invisible reader **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** Bloodsired **,** RegencyPoet **,** Kiriari **,** ForsakenStar22 **,** CosmopolitanCountess **,** Kiki's Stories of Awesomeness **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** DreamBubbles **,** ShadowSpade **,** 2345678910 **, and** Nyx-Arae **for reviewing yesterday. Seriously you guys… you are the reason why I continue to sacrifice my free-time and my sleep** (which is sacred to me) **to get these chapters update-worthy in a timely fashion so I can continue to stick to this insane posting schedule I've given myself. If you keep up with the feedback like you have been, I swear to continue with my rapid-fire updates.**

 **Hope you guys enjoy the chapter. A lot of you saw this coming, but I have to admit – it's totally entertaining to watch my newbies making wild guesses and predictions while my veterans sit huddled together in a corner, bracing themselves for what is to come. But enough of my evil foreshadowing. Enjoy the chapter and don't forget to review!**

* * *

 **XLV**

 _ **To Lose Control**_

"What do you think of this one?" Emma inquired after she completed lacing up the bodice. She then took a step back, allowing Hera to look into the full body mirror.

Her smiles seemed to be getting wider with each dress she tried on.

The gown she had on now – after trying on at least two dozen already – was a stunningly fitted dark plum number, with off-the-shoulder sleeves and a tasteful neckline.

The housekeeper offered an approving smile.

"I think we have a winner," Jane commented. The human turned her head, her warm eyes bright and lively.

"Nearly two hours later! At last!" and Hera smoothed her palms over her stomach to her waist.

"I love how the purple brings out the red in your hair," Emma added.

"It is very beautiful," Jane agreed with a nod.

Hera turned to gaze at herself in the mirror once more, never having been so pleased with her appearance in all her life. She noted the tad bit of weight she had lost over the last year, how her once very soft stomach seemed a little flatter now. She wasn't sure if it was her body or the dress, but she felt beautiful.

Oh, if only this feeling could last forever.

"Would you like to retry any of the other dresses or have you made your choice?" the servant asked.

"This one, definitely," Hera said, earning an approving nod from Emma.

"Very well then," was Jane's reply as she continued to pick up the various articles of clothing that littered the room. "Emma, help Miss Garret get out of that dress."

"Yes ma'am," and Emma began to unlace the gown as Hera continued to admire herself in the mirror.

"Do you think he'll approve?" the human inquired absentmindedly.

"Who my dear?"

"The Count, of course."

Jane and Emma made eye contact for a brief instant, but quickly hid their looks of trepidation as they continued with their work.

"I'm sure the master will love it," Jane replied.

"He'd have to be mad _not_ to," Emma added, earning a few chuckles.

"Yes. Although I wouldn't call our employer _mad_ , Emma," Jane chastised, "you are right. He will be thoroughly pleased with your choice, my dear," and she watched as Emma helped Hera out of the dress, the human wrapping her bare arms around her front in response to the chill of the room, as both servants had insisted on leaving the windows open.

"I hope so," the woman said, watching as the dress skirt pooled at her feet, leaving her in little more than her knickers. She shivered when a sudden breeze blew through the chamber. "Although we are left with one more problem," she added.

"And what is that?" Jane wondered.

"What are we going to do with my hair?" Hera asked, her arms still wrapped around her body and she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. "Obviously I'll have to wear it up – though I'm not quite sure how."

"Maybe if we take this and pin it here, and then add some curls here," and Emma began to play with the mortal's hair, the two women discussing style options as Jane continued to clean. "Yes, I think that would work nicely," the maid concluded after some deliberation. "You could wear black diamonds, or amethysts, maybe a small tiara – the colors would work really well with your hair."

"I'll take your word for it," Hera said with a smile. "I'm so new at all of this – I can't even begin to tell you how grateful I am for all your help."

"Don't worry – once we have you looking the part, nothing else will matter," Emma insisted. "I don't see the master leaving your side for the whole of the evening. He'd probably be afraid of someone trying to steal you from him."

The mortal laughed.

"He better. It's going to be odd enough, being the only human in a party of vampires."

"You may not be the only human present, Miss Garret," Jane interjected as Emma brushed Hera's hair. "There are one or two of the Count's inner circle who have taken on mortal companions in the past, and we've always accommodated them."

"I didn't realize affairs with humans were a regular thing."

"It's not – but it does happen. It's far less controversial than it used to be, that's for certain."

"What are they like? The Count's friends?"

"They're a collection of eclectic personalities," Jane explained tactfully. "No doubt before the ball, the master will give you a list of people who are safe to converse with and a list of those whom you should avoid."

"Like the baron," Emma agreed.

"Or the judge," Jane added.

"They sound rather ominous," Hera replied, now seated on the chaise closest to the fire as she watched the two servants finish tidying up the room.

"Once the master properly declares you, they'll keep to themselves, though from one woman to another, I'd keep my distance all the same."

"Especially since they've already heard about you."

"Heard about me? You mean the Count has talked about me before? As in to other people?"

"Of course he has!" Emma exclaimed. "After your stay with us, the master had been called on rather unexpectedly by a few of his inner circle and they could smell you all over him."

Hera blushed madly.

"Was it really _that_ obvious?" she asked timidly, trying to hide the grin on her face.

"The entire house was in uproar," Emma said with a laugh. "Or at least, the mistresses were. Aleera took it the worst, however. I've never heard such nasty insults come from that woman's mouth, _ever_."

"Yes, well, I'm not a huge fan of her either," the human grumbled.

"As I was saying, several of the master's friends spent the next few days with him and I remember overhearing them talking about you," Emma explained, an almost impish look in her eyes.

"What did he say?"

"Emma, no gossiping," Jane warned.

"But it's not gossiping if it's about her," the maid insisted.

"You know better than to eavesdrop when the master has company. What was said was not meant for your ears."

"What did he say, Emma?" Hera repeated.

"It's not necessarily what he said, but rather what he _didn't_ say," the vampire replied mischievously with a wink.

Hera covered her mouth in shock.

"You mean…"

"Emma, that is enough out of you," Jane asserted, trying to hide her amused smile as she pointed her finger at the girl in a futile effort to keep her silent. Emma's wicked grin informed both women that nothing they did would keep her quiet on the subject.

"Let's just say that his approval of you is _profound_ , though it's remained mostly unspoken. But now the whole of his social circle has been aflame with the rumors and the assumptions and from what I've heard, everyone who is anyone is dying to catch a glimpse of the mortal woman who rendered the great Count Dracula speechless. We're expecting a particularly large turnout this weekend – all because of you."

Hera's eyes widened at this revelation.

"Really?"

Both servants nodded in confirmation.

"I don't know if I should be flattered or mortified right now."

"I'd try not to think about it too much, Miss Garret," Jane offered sympathetically with a disapproving look in Emma's direction. "Just know that the master cares very much for you. In the end, that's all that matters."

"True, but I don't know if I can show my face in public now that every single vampire in the Count's acquaintance knows about our sex life – even if he said nothing. I can only imagine what they're assuming."

"I heard a rumor on our way over last night that some of his old lovers are calling you _the siren_."

"Oh Lord," and Hera covered her face with her hand. "That's it. I can't go to the ball this weekend."

"I'm afraid it's a bit late for that," Jane chuckled, standing in front of her. "It's the curse of being with the master, or any man of consequence. They may try their best to be discrete, but nothing stays secret for long. Especially where Count Dracula is concerned. But, at least you may know one thing for certain – you are not another conquest to him, my dear," and her tone suddenly became serious. "He loves you, Miss Garret. Even _I_ can attest to that. I've known the master for centuries and I've seen him in love – to varying degrees, anyway. But never before have I ever seen him quite like this. What he feels for you is powerful and real. You should feel privileged to have the love and respect of that man. And I pray you will never give him reason to regret you."

Hera smiled.

"I am not Ilona, Jane. You have nothing to worry about on that front."

"I know, child," the housekeeper said affectionately, taking the mortal's chin in her hand. "You're a good woman, Miss Garret – strong of will, but gentle, patient, and forgiving – which is exactly what he needs."

A comfortable silence lingered between the women for a few moments before Jane clapped her hands together and said,

"Now then, why don't you get dressed while we finish up?" and the servant offered Hera a robe before ushering her over to the changing screen as she draped the mortal's clothes on a chair.

As the two servants finished putting away the rest of the dresses, Emma broke the silence.

"So, you've heard what the master thinks of you. What about you?"

Hera laughed behind the curtain after pulling on her robe, in no hurry to dress. She then sat down behind the screen to remove the stockings from her legs, never hearing the door to her bedroom open, nor the small gasp that escaped the maid's lips at the sight of the individual who had suddenly entered in from the hall.

"I think Count Dracula is amazing," Hera began, pulling the garter down her leg slowly, lost in reminiscence, hardly aware that the Count had just crossed over the threshold.

Jane's eyes were wide in shock at the sight of her master, his very gaze making the housekeeper shudder.

 _My lord, what are you doing here?_ she asked him through her mind.

Dracula never verbally uttered a word of reply, but the darkness of his expression told her everything.

 _Leave us,_ he commanded.

Emma knew better than to disobey an order and she retreated without a single protest, but Jane put up more of a fight, understanding the consequences of what would happen if she left Hera to the mercy of the Count – especially in his current state.

 _Master, you must leave immediately!_ she pleaded. _You have barely a half-hour more to wait and then it is done. You are so close, my lord. Please, don't do this to Miss Garret. You love her. I know you don't want to…_

 _I said get out,_ he repeated, several lights in the room extinguishing, the temperature in the bedchamber dropping a degree or two as his anger and desperation hitched, the color of his usually brilliant blue eyes darkening considerably.

 _But my lord…_ Jane went to protest.

 _Now_ , he growled into her mind, the overpowering scent of Hera's flesh tempting him into insanity.

No one would deny the demon what it wanted.

Hera was _his_ … and he'd have her _now_.

Jane nodded reluctantly, bowing her head to him, submission in her stance, but her eyes were still filled with beseeching.

Hera remained oblivious, chatting to herself now, since now no one was listening.

"I love him, Emma," she continued to explain as she leaned back in the plush chair, her robe, which she had loosely tied shut, slipping open and off her shoulders a little. "He's so…I don't even know how to explain it."

Jane took one last woeful glance at the screen behind which Hera stood before exiting from the room in dutiful silence, sealing the two in behind her. Dracula soundlessly locked the door after the housekeeper's exit before turning his attention to the dressing curtain where Hera's voice was coming from.

With the bending of his will, the windows began to close of their own volition, one at a time as several of the candles on the far side of the room were snuffed out as the Count's shadow slinked ominously across the wall.

"There's something about him that draws me in every time, something I can't quite put my finger on," the human went on, remaining unaware that the Count was now her only audience as the two female servants were long gone.

Dracula draped his cloak over the chaise by the fire before removing his boots silently, willing the mirror to turn just slightly so he could see Hera behind the screen. The vision she presented only aggravated his already dangerous appetite.

"I remember the first time I met him," she recalled aloud. "Despite the fact that I was petrified beyond belief, I still felt strangely connected to him. One look and I was lost. I sometimes think it was that darkness of his. I remember it being so…" She paused, searching for the right word as she stood up from the chair behind the screen, seemingly oblivious of the Count who was now leaning forward in his seat by the fire. "…so enticing," she continued. "He has this devastating sexual appeal to him. I mean, all I have to do is _look_ at him, and I get so… so _achy_."

He watched as she leaned against the wall, one foot on the seat of the chair as the robe she was donning slid to her elbows, her hand smoothing over a thigh as her eyes fluttered while her other hand played over the laces on the front of her corset – each movement slow and deliberate, as if she knew he was watching.

What he didn't know what that she was indeed aware of his presence.

Jane's silence had been one thing, but her suspicions had been confirmed when she noticed the altered angle of the mirror and the sudden reemergence of that peculiar scent – his heat – that had entered the room just after the housekeeper and maid had fallen silent. It was now saturating every fiber of her being, and little did she know that with every inhalation came a muting of reason as all sense and rational thought were gradually pushed back into the remote corners of her mind, making room for the onslaught of irrational lust that now hijacked her brain.

"I want him so bad, it hurts sometimes," she whimpered, staring at the screen, fully aware that on the other side her lover resided, his eyes undoubtedly attentive, ears hanging on to her every utterance.

"When he's around me… I feel… I feel…" Dracula watched through the mirror as the hand on her leg ran up from her knee to her inner thigh – slowly, leisurely, torturously – "… I get hot," she crooned. "All over… especially here," and he watched as her hand slipped between her legs.

The vampire blew out a lungful of air as quietly as he could, staring with widened eyes as her fingers lightly caressed against the lace of her panties, eyes closing in pleasure as a light, heady hum vibrated behind those lips of hers.

Dracula was no stranger to the sometimes brazenly sexual behavior of the gentler sex, but never had it affected him in the way it did when he watched Hera do it. He had to touch her, had to get inside of her. The curse demanded it, and even the somewhat rational man inside of him did as well.

With three large strides, he crossed the room and pulled the dressing curtain away, staring down at Hera who was still leaning against the wall, that glorious fire in her eyes. He didn't know if it was in response to the scent of his heat or in response to him, but whatever it was, he had _never_ seen that look on her face before and a shuddering breath escaped him.

She looked positively ravenous.

"I thought you were busy this evening," the young woman said innocently, her voice a bit huskier than intended, hands still smoothed over her exposed thighs as if she knew that he wanted to touch her.

"I… I was…" he stumbled, eyes helplessly drawn to her bare legs.

The Count had never seen them in the light before. They weren't long, but they were strong, smooth - just as they should be; with milky thighs that were made for cheeks to graze. He wanted to be between them more than anything in the world, but he couldn't seem to move. He just kept staring, paralyzed as his eyes moved lazily over her body in repeated sweeps, the lights in the room dimming dramatically as his brain drowned in desire. The pale beauty of her skin in the dimming light had hypnotized him; never had she looked so stunning, so sensual before.

"I missed you," Hera breathed. "I wanted to come see you, but Jane said that you requested to be left alone."

"Yes," he whispered, his voice nearly inaudible. "I had said that, but I… I can't seem to remember why."

Hera smiled, completely oblivious to the true danger of the situation as she caressed his face gently while moving past him. Electricity shot from her fingertips and into his skin when the pads of her fingers grazed his cleanly shaven cheek and a delightful shudder rippled down his spine and straight between his legs.

He wouldn't be able to keep himself sane for much longer.

"I wanted to thank you for the dresses," she mentioned. "They're utterly gorgeous. Jane said they cost a fortune."

"Did you…" Dracula shook his head slightly, trying to formulate a comprehensible sentence that didn't involve the words _sex, naked,_ or _fuck_ , "did you find something you liked?"

"Yes, I did," the young woman replied, opening the wardrobe and pulling out the black and plum gown she had tried on earlier, showing it to him. "What do you think? I really liked this one. Jane did too."

"It needs to be in red," the vampire rasped, hands itching to tear that robe and her underthings from her body. _Too many clothes. She's wearing too many clothes_ , his brain shouted.

"Why red?" she inquired, looking down at the dress, wonderfully oblivious. "I like the purple color."

"I want red on you," he said impatiently and in hushed tones. "Nothing but black and red and the color of your flesh…" and he reached out for her. He could already feel the warmth of her skin radiating off of her like the heat of a noonday sun.

"I still like the purple," she insisted after putting the dress away, but before she even knew what was happening, he had savagely grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist, his stiff genitals now pressed against her backside. Hera gasped in surprise at the state he was in.

"I want you naked," he growled softly in her ear, and at the words, he felt the young woman's body break out in fever at the suggestion. His large hands moved up the length of her torso before masterful fingers made effortless quick work of the laces of her corset. "I _need_ you naked, Hera," he purred, the sound vibrating in his chest as his hands languidly slid the garment and the robe off her body in a single push.

His large hands then smoothed over the length of her abdomen from underneath the silk chemise she had been wearing beneath the stay. The voyage of palm against skin ceased before he could reach her breasts and he lightly caressed the underside of the sensitive skin with his fingers. Hera shivered, leaning against him as that aphrodisiac scent of his heat sent her libido into overdrive.

"I _need_ to be inside of you," he then whispered, fingers now pulling down the straps of her shift before his dull, human teeth sank into her shoulder, forcing a pleasurable whimper from her parted lips. He nibbled and teased the flesh of her neck for a few long moments as she leaned against him, basking in the sound of him sighing her name in supplication, as if a part of him was petitioning for her verbal consent.

With what strength she could muster, Hera forced herself to turn around in his hold so she could face him.

His pupils were large, irises glowing that deep, ethereal blue, though the luminous color was more of a thin ring of light surrounding a cavernous pair of black holes.

Everything about him seemed wanton, erotic… dark. That scent from before now filled her room and it made any suspicions she _should_ have had vanish, her body and even her soul responding to him in ways she had never imagined possible. She was connected to him in some unfathomable, impossible way, just as he was connected to her, and the realization was beautiful and terrifying.

Hera reached up and pushed his jacket off his body, holding his gaze as it fell to the floor behind him. He watched her as she undid the chords and buttons of his vest and silk dress shirt, freeing him of his vest first before finally responding,

"Then inside me you shall be."

He rewarded her submission with a kiss, and then she was in his arms.

Dracula's palm pressed against her lower back, encouraging her to arch against him and the sudden friction felt like heaven.

But that guilt!

No.

No, he _had_ to do this… it was too late to turn back now.

The Count did his best to push the remorse aside and embrace the rationalizations, desperately struggling to convince himself that this was all right, and the justification worked – for the present anyway, and it was enough to bring him to his senses as his mouth softened against her own.

"I need to love you," he whispered, and he made one final mental push, shoving all shame and thought from consciousness. He focused every ounce of his attention utterly on her as one of his hands sank into her hair, pulling her head back as he tilted his forward, and soon he was lost in a long, drugging kiss. Dracula's cool lips danced avidly against her own, suckling sweetly until he could feel the flush in her cheeks.

Hera's arms began to wrap slowly around his neck, fingers itching to get lost in his hair, to rake her nails along his scalp. But his need for control was still running rampant and he snatched her wrists and then held them with one hand, earning a furious noise of protest from the woman who opened her eyes and sent him a nasty look.

Then everything snapped.

Their luxurious passions turned into a fervent power struggle as Hera dove her head forward and bit his lower lip hungrily, almost hard enough to draw blood. It appeared to simultaneously aggravate and arouse the vampire because he began to kiss her back with equal ferocity as he tried to win the battle for control.

The young woman pulled her head back with a wicked grin when he tried to overpower her and then she descended upon him once again, her lips falling over his rough jaw line and biting once before sliding her mouth down the length of his powerful neck. She felt the dry click in his throat beneath her lips as he swallowed hard and her name came out in a ragged gasp as her open-mouthed kisses set fire to his naturally cooler skin.

She was winning… _damn it_.

In a fit of madness, he abruptly shoved her away from him, watching as she stumbled, trying to find some solid footing, her back ultimately smacking against the wall. Her hands gripped at what they could, trying to stay on her feet, but in the blink of an eye, Dracula was in front of her and then all over her, his hands grabbing her wrists before she could reach out for him. He pinned her roughly to the wall, crushing his lips against hers in a demanding kiss that sent her head back with a thud.

The mortal shivered violently as the vampire forced her lips apart with his mouth before plundering past them, his body pressed against hers with an urgency that thrilled her. Lust, powerful and unreal, burned hot between her thighs as he made love to her mouth with his tongue, then playing over the angle of her chin, gently biting down as his body grinded hard against hers.

The friction made Hera delirious. She shut her eyes tight, trying to suppress a deep moan of disappointment when he stopped kissing her suddenly and his grinding came to a halt. She was about to ask him why he had stopped when her eyes met his, finding that he was just… staring at her, as if he were struggling with himself, as if he didn't know if he wanted to do this.

He appeared starved, yet… uncharacteristically hesitant.

Hera couldn't seem to understand why, but in the back of her mind, she could tell something felt off about him. He felt different. He _looked_ different, darker even. Despite the devilish smirk that continued to play on the corner of his lips, there was a savage hunger in his eyes that she had never seen before and it left her unsure of what to think.

She should have been frightened.

She should have taken the chance to push him away.

But after being distanced for merely a few seconds, Hera couldn't bear the separation between them anymore and with a boldness she didn't know existed in her, she leaned forward and kissed him, pulling him back to her.

As he returned her attentions, he pushed her back against the wall and snatched her hands again when she tried to finish undressing him.

With a slight bend in her knee, Hera lifted her leg and rubbed her lower thigh against the pronounced erection straining within his pants, and the action forced him to release one of her wrists in order to push her leg back down. But the moment he let go her hand flew, reaching for the back of his head and gripping a handful of that silky obsidian and giving his roots a nice, rough tug as she lifted herself up onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist.

Ill-prepared for the unanticipated weight, the vampire stumbled back, nearly tripping over his feet and the rug before the bed caught them in time and both fell to the mattress in a heap. Hera half-expected him to get upset, but Dracula only grabbed her face and persisted in ravaging her mouth, following her lips when she made a move to retreat and get off of him.

Within moments, her back had hit the bed and he moved to perch himself above her. Hera crawled instinctively back when she got the chance to, a mixture of nerves and anticipation and Dracula pursued as if she were some kind of prey. The instant she could go no further, his mouth collided with hers in another kiss.

The woman was stunning in the soft glow of the room, her body shifting and struggling against his, her busy hands finally permitted to finish in removing his shirt. She relished in the coolness of his skin for a moment before helping him out of his trousers which he was all too eager to get out of, both of them silently consenting to temporarily share the control.

As he finished kicking the garment off from around his ankles, Dracula reached behind her and with a slow sweep of fingers caressing up the length of her spine, Hera's back arched beautifully for him. The distance between her back and the bed allowed him to lift the shift she was wearing up and over her head, leaving her utterly exposed from the waist up.

And then he stopped unexpectedly.

It had been several months since they were last so entwined, and now more than ever did Hera Garret appear a goddess to him. Her body was sumptuous and pleasing, with her breasts tight at the tips already, swells of creamy white under pink nipples.

The Count's head descended slowly, strands of black hair hanging in his face and tickling the tender skin as his cool breath fanned the hot flesh of her breasts. His lips gently kissed over one of the mounds, teasing the tip with his tongue and teeth, sequentially causing more of that honey to melt between her thighs.

His hand slipped around to her back, the temperature of the caress sending a shudder down Hera's spine as he encouraged her to arch her back off the mattress, thrusting her breast into his deep kiss – his mouth caressing and suckling between swipes of tongue.

Hera let out a whimper as her legs spread apart and wrapped around his naked waist. She let him do as he pleased for a few minutes longer before using his moment of distraction to roll him off of her, straddling his hips and removing her aching flesh from his mouth with a delirious gleam in her eyes.

Bending forward, she caught his lips with hers once again, forcing him to move slowly, urging him to kiss her deeper than he had before. The vampire started to sit up with the human still on his lap, but in an effort to keep him beneath her, she began to grind slowly against him. The friction of Hera's still clothed groin rubbing against him stole the Count's breath and the woman watched with fascination as he began to perspire just slightly, his eyes glowing, the fangs in his mouth lengthening.

His evident sign of desire lay aching, but proud between Hera's thighs, hard and hot, and she ground into him again, this time harder and with more purpose. He frowned and closed his eyes, emitting a deep groan as he felt the pulsating torment inside him increase.

Temporarily submitting to her will, Dracula claimed her lips in frantic arousal while stroking his palms up her thighs to her hips and then along the length of her back before silently urging her to rub herself harder and faster against him. Another moan escaped her lips as his nose rubbed sensually along the curve of her neck whilst his mouth sucked and teased the tender flesh along her collarbone.

Hera's brow furrowed; molten, swollen desire thumping angrily through her veins as he led her to fall back on the bed, his body perched above hers. His hand created some space between them as he smoothed his large palm over her abdomen. Her stomach had flattened some since he had seen it last, but her hips were still as wide and perfect as ever, as were her sleek legs.

Then there was that juncture below her navel, that sweetest piece – he peeled off her panties and a growl rumbled in his throat when he realized how wet she was.

She was on fire.

The purely primeval sound that came out of him made her visibly shudder.

"You. Are. _Mine_ ," he whispered possessively, thinking about all the ways he wanted to take her.

As he straddled her legs, his shaft jutted straight out of his body, heavy and demanding. But before he could lean down to her skin, her hands quickly found his length. She wasn't ready to surrender to him just yet and when she took him in her hand, his whole person trembled, his breath getting caught in his throat.

Watching her touch him, he let himself go for just a moment, curious to see what she would do given the chance and it gave him the opportunity to permit free reign to the purity of his desire, the uncontaminated ecstasy that was brought on by the deepest of love, despite the less-than-admirable circumstances.

When she sat up, he didn't know where she was going and he sent her a concerned expression.

"Hera?"

But then her lips parted and she suddenly took him into her mouth, and Dracula was lost.

He gasped a shuddering breath and then fell back onto his hands, swearing under his breath as an unadulterated moan left him before he could even think of suppressing it. The sensation of her mouth and tongue on his cock sent him reeling, and the fact that it was Hera, _his_ Hera, doing it to him only intensified his pleasure.

It was almost too much and the woman watched as he sank back into the mattress, the sounds coming out of him unlike anything she had ever heard before and they inspired her newfound sense of boldness.

Hera had very little experience in doing this sort of thing and in the back of her mind something nagged at her conscience.

Why was she doing this?

Why was she acting so desperate, so willing, so brash?

She didn't know, but in that moment she didn't care, the intoxicating scent of her lover's heat numbing her brain and muting her conscience. She felt wild, untamed, powerful, and gluttonous.

A pang of guilt started to stab at the Count as his conscience screamed to make her stop before they both lost complete control.

But he couldn't stop.

And neither could she.

They were bound to each other through something so primitive and so basic as animal instincts and it didn't matter that she was a human and he was a vampire.

The only thing that made the situation slightly altered was that _he_ was the one in heat, and _she_ was the one to relieve him.

Even if Hera had possessed the willpower, she wouldn't have been able to stop herself. That darkening scent of his had made its way deep into her system, setting off an irreversible chemical reaction within her body, doing exactly what it was made to do—lure a mortal woman.

The shame within the Count twisted in his stomach as nausea began to creep up on him.

This was wrong.

All of it was just so wrong.

But her tongue running along the underside of his shaft felt _so_ right.

 _I can't…_ he kept saying in his mind. _Must… stop… this…_

But he couldn't.

The pleasure she was creating within him, that dangerous fire they were both playing with sapped what little strength he had and he was knocked flat on his back from the impact of the beast that had hijacked his body.

Hera's own instincts started kicking in as she grew more accustomed to her actions and his reactions. The vampire longed to grab a fist full of that beautiful copper hair, but for fear that he'd hurt her, he instead clutched the linens beneath him as he focused every ounce of his energy on what this woman was doing to him. His vocal responses were uninhibited, filled with a beautiful kind of anguish as his face contorted from the torturous pleasure she was forcing him to endure.

Right before he could go over the edge, he shifted his hips away, removing himself from her mouth, not wanting to release just yet. She sent him a look, her eyes asking what was wrong, but when she saw his expression…

"Come here," he commanded, pulling her up his stomach and chest, rolling her onto her back.

He placed his hand on the column of her neck and sweeping it down the center of her, stopping over her heart. It was beating fast, and he dropped down, pressing his lips to her sternum and then showering her in kisses.

Dracula kissed a path down to her navel where he lingered and licked before moving to her hip, grinning wickedly when he noticed the way her heart began to beat more rapidly. She knew what was coming. To make things a little less predictable, he surprised her, urging Hera onto her stomach and then parting her legs so he could cup her core with his palm. The silky wetness that coated his hand had him shaking as he ran the tip of his nose along her spine, down to her lower back.

Slipping a finger into her, he then raked the tips of his fangs up and along her spine. A powerful shudder shot through Hera's nerves as she moaned, her body curving to meet his teeth. He stopped at her shoulder, nudged her hair out of the way, and growled as he looked at the mark on her neck he had given her months ago.

When she tensed beneath him, he whispered, "I won't hurt you."

"I know."

She was so trusting of him.

 _She was always an easy target,_ a dark voice laughed in the back of his mind. _So easy to manipulate… to control_.

He hated that voice, hated the truths that resided within its cruel mocking.

Hera shifted her hips and clenched her wet heat around his hand, forcing the vampire back into the feral reality. The Count hissed as another wave of lust ripped through him. He began to pant, feeling hotter now than he ever had before in his life.

The dim light of the room felt like rays of sunlight on his skin as he stared at the mortal's sweaty neck, that beautiful purple-blue vein of hers protruding beneath the flesh as if it were begging him to reopen the scars he had left on her from their last encounter.

"I want to feed from you," he said into her ear.

She trembled, but he felt a warm rush where his fingers still penetrated her and he knew the shakes were from pleasure. Her voice was breathless, heady.

"Really?"

" _God_ , yes," he groaned and his mouth closed on the side of her throat. "I would love to taste you in my mouth again."

"Do it, Vlad," she pleaded, her voice husky, thrilling.

An erotic surge pounded through him and his fangs grew fierce. Before either could utter another word, he had sunk his fangs into her flesh, breaking through the skin and tearing against the vein. She let out a soft cry of distress before that cry turned into a long moan when he started to drink. His wet mouth sucked avidly at her throat, taking in mouthfuls of her life-blood.

When he was satiated, he licked the bite marks clean before his healing saliva could close the wounds, and then he rose above her, pulling her hips off the mattress before entering her from behind, sliding in deep. Hera swore beneath him, arching under his invasion as heat roared through the Count in an unforgiving wave. He ran one of his arms between her breasts from behind, holding onto her upper body, and with his hand he twisted her chin around so he could kiss her.

Her breath was hot and desperate in his mouth as he slowly extracted himself from her core. The surge back in made them both groan, she from his intrusion, and he because everything about her felt so damn good. She was so tight around him, her inner muscles contracting slightly, holding onto him and pulling him in farther. That beautiful, addicting friction along his shaft made his eyes glaze over in a sexed-up heat.

He got in a couple more controlled thrusts and then the demon broke loose and his hips took over, moving of their own volition. His body pounded into hers, and he shifted his hands to her waist as he held on. Her chest dropped down to the bed and her face turned to the side so she could breathe, her lips parted, eyes closed.

Dracula eventually planted his fists in the mattress on either side of her shoulders as his movements became more fluid. She seemed so small underneath him, dwarfed by the thickness of his forearms and surging chest but she took all of him, from tip to base, over and over again until he was lost in her. The noises she was making shot his pleasure through the roof, taking him to the very verge of fruition.

Except he didn't want it to end.

He never wanted this to stop.

Count Dracula wanted this time with her to last forever, despite the severe reality of it all—the ugly fact that a part of him was using her again, and she was letting him, trusting him.

He pulled out and turned her over, forcing them to both come back down. As she landed on her back, her legs flopped to the sides as if she didn't have the strength to hold them up. The sight of her open to him, glistening for him, swollen from him, nearly had him spilling all over her thighs.

Dracula dropped his head and kissed her lips hard and long, as if he were apologizing, although Hera would never pick up on that. And the harder he kissed her, the harder she kissed back, until their tongues were dueling and every muscle in him was twitching to mount her again.

 _Not yet_ , he told himself. _Not yet, you son of a bitch. You wait._

He moved his kisses to her neck, then up to her ear where he nipped at the lobe as he whispered to her in his native tongue, his fingers between her legs, soaked in her sex as he found her pleasure spot with ease. As he fingered her, he coached her slightly, getting her close to the precipice before forcing her to come back down, and then doing it all over again.

The words he uttered made her even hotter, and then he would moan and purr as if her pleasure was his own and soon Hera's whole person was trembling. She was burning alive, helpless to the ministrations of those masterful digits and his filthy whispers.

But then he took it further, his lips moving down until he was kissing where his shameless fingers had been and then he was tasting himself and her, and Hera's world spun in one delirious, feverish haze of ecstasy and sin.

His skill sent her spine curling, and Hera mewled in her gluttony as Dracula soaked in the gorgeous moans and unapologetic begging that left her mouth. With a smile, he kept going, gradually dragging deeper and deeper until he got a full on taste of her, loving how she writhed and then swore in response. And then he latched on and drew her in rhythmically and she was gone. His eyes rolled back in his head as he swallowed her essence. She was like nothing he'd ever pulled down his throat before.

More… the demon needed more.

Hera gripped whatever she could hold onto as her eyes rolled back and he listened as she started to swear, the words she uttered so deliciously filthy, it encouraged him to suck harder. When she said his name, the syllables were moaned unrepentantly as she tumbled over the edge again and again and again beneath his mouth and fingers.

Dracula would have been content in making her come repeatedly just like this, but after a time, something changed in him unexpectedly.

He became aware of a rhythmic pounding in his chest and he stopped his ministrations almost immediately, pulling back when he realized – his heart was beating.

He glanced over at the small clock on Hera's bedside table and realized it was nearly midnight.

He was… he had a…

His demanding sex organ suddenly jutted hard into the open air and an insatiable, nearly painful need to be inside of her devoured him in a lust so powerful, so terrifying, _nothing_ could control him. The beast within couldn't hold itself back any longer – not when it was running out of time. Within a matter of seconds, Dracula had lost complete and utter control over the situation and it would be the most beautiful and mortifying experience of his life.

His eyes prickled with unwanted tears as he moved into position, the guilt he had managed to keep back starting to resurface again.

This was it.

"Hera, forgive me," he muttered inaudibly, and before the human could even comprehend that he had actually stopped his attentions, that he had even spoken, he pounded into her without warning and her eyes shot open wide as she cried out in surprise, being forced to suddenly adjust to his rather abrupt intrusion. He pulled his hips back briefly, only to drive into her again, angled just right so he hit that sweet spot each and every time.

With the Count's assistance, Hera wrapped her arms around the back of her knees as he helped to tip her hips up so he could penetrate more deeply, and when they found a position that suited them both, he held her to him as she took every inch of him without complaint.

He could sense her coursing through his veins, as if the two of them had somehow melded together into a single being and that sensation alone made the hideousness of it all so beautiful.

He was truly one with her – both in body and soul.

The overpowering aroma of their conjoining heat was an intoxicating fume that nearly suffocated the both of them, but Dracula couldn't stop for air.

He couldn't stop for anything.

He just kept driving, harder and faster.

She cried out wildly as she came undone beneath him, and before her pulses faded, he shot up over her and plunged back inside.

Hera called out his name, nails scoring his back and drawing blood. He winced and then let out a euphoric cry before gasping for air and he immediately let himself go over the edge just as the clock on the wall struck the hour of midnight.

With nothing to hold back, he then came over and over again, pumping his warm flow into her. But the orgasm wouldn't stop. It kept going and he rode the waves that overtook him.

The ecstasy seemed to have no end.

Hera held onto her lover as he shuddered once more, his body seizing, breath coming out of him in a rush. He groaned deep in his chest and she felt him jerk and release again inside of her. It was a devastating kind of intimacy: she so calm and still beneath, whereas he was in the throes of some kind of powerful multiple orgasming.

Hera's eyes never left his face as she took in and felt every small thing in his body as well as each heavy thrust. She knew exactly when another release was coming for him; could feel the trembling in his abdomen and thighs; could see the way his brow furrowed and creased in just a certain way. It was happening now, his breath catching as he surged again with his hips.

He lifted his head this time, lips peeling off his fangs, eyes squeezed shut as he reached out with one hand to grip the headboard in front of him, an uncharacteristic string of oaths rushing past his lips in a burst of breath. His body contracted, all his muscles tensing, and then she felt the movement deep inside of her. His eyes opened and they were glazed over, a beautiful flaming azure that burned her flesh.

"Hera… Hera, I..."

Another spasm overtook him and he swore in his native tongue, burying his face into her neck as he let out a guttural sound, a mixture of some sort of apology and a deepening ecstasy. All she could do was smile softly, running her hands up his smooth, sweat-laced back, feeling those thick muscles clutch bone as his lower body drove into her again, his ribs surging as he gasped.

She was saturated and deliciously hot from all the heat pouring off of him. He seemed unusually feverish, alive even, a healthy flush in his cheeks. But she dismissed it, too caught up in what was happening to him to even care.

When he was finally spent, he heaved himself up on his arms, making as though he were going to pull out.

"Where are you going?" she whispered and she wrapped a leg around his hip, not ready for him to leave her just yet.

"I don't want to crush you," he panted, his breath sucked in again on a hiss, his arms starting to quiver as if he had lost all the strength in them.

Hera chuckled sympathetically.

"You're not going to crush me, Vlad," she said with a loving smile, touching his face. His hair was still in a ponytail, although certainly in disarray, some of his hair matted to his face, but to her, he had never looked so beautiful. The young woman urged him to lie down and within moments, he collapsed on top of her.

Hera pulled the clip from his hair, freeing the long strands and gently running her fingers through the liquid obsidian, massaging his scalp with her blunt nails and soaking in the vibrations of his soft, cat-like purrs.

They lingered in the pleasing silence for what felt like a good ten or fifteen minutes, listening to each other breathe as the soft, cool wind from an open window blew through the room, airing out the saturating scent of sex and pheromones as the two love-strewn bodies laid atop the bed, the linens everywhere else but on them.

After what felt like ages, Dracula finally broke the silence.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his chin resting on her sternum as he looked up at her.

Hera's eyes were closed, a pleased smile on her lips. He silently prayed that his own eyes weren't betraying him; that she was indeed too tired to notice how torn he felt.

"I feel utterly relaxed, Vladislaus," she sighed softly. "I don't think I'll be able to move for the next few days."

He laughed as he rolled off of her, crawling up the bed slightly so his face resided beside hers. He moved her mass of hair away from her neck, leaving it to pool above her head on the mattress and then he was caressing her cheek, loving how she leaned into his touch.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked with genuine concern, recalling how unrelenting he had been.

Thankfully, she shook her head "no".

"And how was it?"

Her eyelids peeled back as she turned her head and glanced over at him.

"You just want to hear me say it, don't you?" she teased.

"Of course I do," he mocked. "I want to make sure my spitfire is fully sated."

"You really need to come up with a better pet name for me," she said with a laugh.

"What's wrong with _spitfire_? That's what you are – deliciously passionate and fierce with your red hair and bad temper," and he nibbled her bottom lip when she rolled over onto her side so she could face him.

She was totally worn out, he could see it in the flush of her cheeks, the strained effort to move and even keep her eyes open. She ran her hand over his abdomen, loving the feel of his chiseled abs rippling beneath her palm.

He was so hard, carved to perfection like some kind of statue. Even his sex was perfect. Her hand ran down to the large, exhausted organ of his that lay flat on his belly, feeling it twitch slightly in response to her touch.

"If you insist," she said with a smile, and her curious hand slid over to the side of his waist as she snuggled close to him. "And you? Are you fully spent, _my lord_?" she teased.

A playful growl vibrated in his solid chest as he pulled her into his arms.

"I will never be fully sated of you," he purred voraciously into her ear. "If I had my way, we'd do it all over again, only slower."

"I think I'm going to need more practice if I'm to keep up with you," she replied. "My stamina is nothing like yours."

"Normally I'd be in full support of working on your stamina, but I am content with spoiling you," he confessed, nuzzling into the crook of her neck where he had bitten her and he kissed and suckled the bite marks affectionately, his fingers running lazily up and down her spine so she'd press herself against him.

"I don't know why you are so good to me," she murmured before closing her eyes, her fingers tangling in his hair.

Although he was distracting himself by snuggling his face into her neck, Dracula swallowed hard, that nauseating feeling in the pit of his stomach creeping up to his throat as the guilt started to make an appearance again. He suddenly held her tightly to him, burying his face into her as he listened to her heart slow to a more steady rhythm as exhaustion overtook her.

"It's because I love you," he whispered into her skin. "More than anything in the world."

"I don't deserve you," Hera said with a sigh and he could feel her drifting off to sleep, but there would be no peaceful, post-coital rest for him.

The guilt would not permit it.

 _I'm not as wonderful as I appear,_ he thought pitifully to himself. _Oh God, Hera, please forgive me…_


	46. The Calm before the Storm

**There is a darkness building on the horizon, my dear readers. It's been subtly developing for some time and very soon, everything will descend into chaos... so enjoy this moment of domesticity between our heroine and her dark prince and brace yourselves for what is to come. You're going to be in for quite the emotionally tumultuous ride.** **You have been warned.**

 **But do not fear! Things always have a way of working themselves out. Remember that when things start to feel hopeless - and believe me, they will. ;)**

 **Thank you to** alexc1209 **,** BornRose2 **,** the invisible reader **,** Scarlet Empress **,** She-Devil Red **,** Madam Silver **,** Countess **,** Bloodsired **,** 12345678910 **,** LostarielTuigalen **,** violetrose18 **,** AnimeFan001 **,** Guest **,** DreamBubbles **,** ForsakenStar22 **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** Cosmopolitan Countess **,** Kiriari **,** ShadowSpade **,** Lunaconspiracy365 **, and** ForeverACharmedOne **for reviewing yesterday! Keep it up! I've never seen his nibs so hard at work to get these chapters update-ready in such a timely fashion. Your commentary is inspiring him! Don't stop now! :)  
**

 **To my veteran readers, as an FYI: the latter section of this chapter is brand new! In the original, that section was a vapid and totally unnecessary sex scene, but as you'll find, I changed things up quite a bit, and personally - I am quite proud of this newer version. Would love to hear your thoughts on the alteration!**

* * *

 **XLVI**

 _ **The Calm before the Storm**_

Hera's delicate fingers drummed over the aged leather spines of Dracula's collection of books within the confines of the library. The size of the room and the assortment itself by no means came close to the otherworldly grandeur of the archives in Castle Dracula, but his summer palace certainly did his reputation justice.

Everything about the Count screamed of his vanity and pride. Whether it was the meticulousness of his dress, the extravagance of his possessions, or even those in whom he associated with, he suffered greatly from the seven deadly sins and the thought made Hera chuckle slightly to herself as she turned to make her way down another row of books, searching for something with which to occupy her time.

The human was genuinely surprise she had the strength to walk, particularly after the events of the evening before. She had awoken in her private bedchambers alone; however, the side of the bed in which her dark lover had lain had been left wrinkled and warm, a folded piece of parchment in its place, sealed with a blood red wax and his ancient insignia.

The note had expressed his regret in not being present when she awakened, as well as his deep desire to spend more time with her later in the evening after he got back from the city. But preparations for the coming All Hallow's Eve ball needed to be made, and there was nothing that the Count did not oversee himself. He was a perfectionist and trusting such a high standard of quality to others was not in his repertoire.

Hera had spent the better part of the beginning of the evening bathing, dressing, and eating—although she found it peculiar that she was so hungry suddenly, and having insatiable cravings for the oddest of foods. She had expressed her minor concern to Jane earlier when she had been downstairs in the kitchen, but the housekeeper assured her that it was probably nothing.

Although, Hera would confess later to herself that Jane's disposition seemed more on the quiet side today—as if she were hiding something.

After eating a rather extravagant meal alone, the human then decided it would be best to explore the palace, since she hadn't done so already. Vilkova was much smaller in scale when compared to the vastness of Castle Dracula, but each room was spectacular—intricately detailed, stylish, and modern, with a hint of gothic class, each elaborate painting, priceless statue, and piece of furniture evidence of the Count's wealth and decadent taste.

Yet, despite the grandeur of the ballroom, dining room, armory, and the like, in the end, as it always did, the library captured Hera's heart, and there she chose to remain. She wandered idly through the rows of carefully dusted books, translating the foreign titles in her head, searching for something that would spark her interest.

Finally deciding on a subtly erotic piece by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos, dating back to the late 1700's, Hera pulled the thin book from its place and then leaned back against the shelf facing the window, thumbing absentmindedly through the pages.

A tumultuous storm raged on outside, the rain that had been sensually caressing the glass of the windows now pummeling it, wind ravaging the trees and thunder rolling in the darkened clouds above, the sound vibrating within the depths of Hera's chest each time it sounded.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room briefly with its incandescent glow, momentarily revealing the face of another within the confines of the library, the man's sapphire eyes focused intently on Hera, whose back faced him.

As soon as the light vanished, he did as well, the shadows consuming the vampire completely as he watched the woman lick her fingers absently and turn a page with care, her eyes scanning over the carefully crafted French. She mumbled the text softly to herself as another bolt of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a round of thunder that rattled the windows slightly. The boom briefly caught her attention and she glanced up at the window, watching the shower beat against the glass for just an instant before looking back down at the book.

The Count, who had been watching her for some time now, began to make his way toward her, sneaking up from behind. He was certain she had no idea of his presence, but when he reached out to place his hands on her, she spoke.

"I always assumed you could influence the weather, not control it. Evidently I was mistaken," Hera replied very nonchalant, turning another page, trying to appear as unmoved by him as possible.

Another roll of thunder vibrated in the air as if in response to her statement and she felt the soft caress of his breath against the back of her neck. She expected him to say something, but he remained silent, the tip of his nose traveling deep into her hair. She could feel him breathing her in, each inhale like a deep drag down his throat where he'd hold her scent in his lungs for as long as he could before exhaling again, as if he was trying to metabolize her.

"What are you reading?" he inquired, glancing over her shoulder to see the plethora of French and he made a face. Hera just smiled and snapped the book shut, glancing over her shoulder to look at him.

"Nothing at the moment," she answered.

"Good," and he made a move to kiss her, but Hera maneuvered out of the way and distanced herself from him, playfulness in her eyes.

"Now, now, Count," she teased, placing the book back in its place. "I think you've had enough, wouldn't you agree?"

Dracula reached out and took hold of her arm, turning her around so she'd face him.

"Since when did you get to decide what's enough for me and what isn't?" he asked, a slight arch in his brow.

"Dracula, I'm lucky to be standing right now after last night."

He chuckled darkly in response.

"Yes, you are."

The vampire leaned in close, a purr vibrating in his chest.

"Hera … _my_ _lover_ …" and the tip of his nose sensually brushed against her own as he looked deep into her eyes, his voice low and seductive.

His grip on her arm loosened and he ran his palm slowly down then back up again, smoothing over her shoulder, his fingers dancing over her collarbone and to the side of her neck. His thumb pressed into her jaw, tilting her head back.

A small whimper escaped her lips as she fell captive to the gentle sweeps and caresses of his hand. She could still feel his tongue from last night on her skin, phantom kisses showering her body, and it sent a rush of lust to tear through her.

"Let's make love," he whispered, his fangs lengthening in his arousal, his hands and fingers touching, caressing, and lightly squeezing, earning pleased sighs from her.

Her eyes were delirious with ecstasy, and yet behind her passion was an inner fire he secretly hoped he'd never be able to extinguish.

Hera leaned into him, her parted lips hovering over his mouth before sliding over to his jaw line, the tip of her tongue playing over the angle. Just when he thought she would cave, she pulled her head back as if someone had flicked a switch in her brain and she sent him a devious smirk.

"Mmm, no."

His eyes widened at her response.

He hadn't been expecting that.

"No?"

She simply nodded.

"No," she confirmed.

"Are you refusing me?" came the dumbfounded query.

The human's smile grew wicked.

"Hmm… _maybe_ ," and she yanked her arm out of his grip and walked away quickly, only to have him appear in front of her before she could reach the door.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"You know, I'm not quite sure," was her truthful answer. "Actually, I think a turn in the gardens sounds rather nice. A walk in the rain would be heavenly right about now."

"A walk in the rain? Are you mad? Not in your condition you're not!" he retorted, recalling how she was with child. He couldn't afford for her to get ill. If she did… the baby…

Hera cocked a brow at his response.

"Excuse me? In my condition? _What_ condition?" she inquired.

Dracula skillfully saved himself, putting on a charming smile.

"You're a mortal, spitfire. You're not indestructible."

The woman rolled her eyes.

"A little rain never killed anyone," she replied, making a move to go around him, but he only blocked her way, adding to her frustration.

"Actually, that's not entirely true. Rain can cause you to catch a chill, which means you could get sick, and if you become ill, you are prone to all sorts of viral infections and diseases and if you died, I'd never forgive myself."

Hera laughed.

"Count, please. This is ridiculous. Let me pass."

Dracula's smile widened as he leaned against the closed doors and folded his arms defiantly over his chest.

"No."

"Oh, so you're refusing _me_ now, is that it?"

"I'm not refusing you. I don't think I have it in me to refuse you. I am, however, refusing to allow you to be flippant with your health just because you want to go gallivanting in the rain like some kind of wild gypsy," he answered smartly, another roll of thunder sounding in the background.

"Oh, don't be such a smart ass."

He pointed a finger at her, chastisement in the gesture.

"Watch your tongue, Miss Garret."

"Says the man who was swearing just last night," she said, an evident suggestiveness in her tone.

"That was different," he insisted.

"Oh really?" she challenged, sauntering her hips slightly as she moved toward him. "And what are you going to do if I decide to defy you? Will you punish me? Maybe bind my wrists and ankles to the four posts of my bed so you can torment me until I submit to your every whim?"

She looked deep into his eyes, the rain outside the only sound that existed between them. Lightning cracked in the sky once again and the lights in the room flickered slightly.

"Or maybe," she whispered softly, her warm breath caressing his skin as she leaned forward and purred into his ear, "perhaps that is what you want."

When lightning struck once more, this time it was much closer to the palace than before and after it passed, the lights in the room flickered and then went out, the only light existing now coming from the hearth. The room was otherwise dark, the small amount of light present casting sensual shadows on their faces as they stared into each other's eyes.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" he stated softly, staring hungrily at her lips.

"Hmm?"

"The power… the control," he replied, his r's rolling slightly off his tongue. "It feels like ecstasy running through your veins—like liquid fire."

Without removing his eyes from her face, his hands gently took hers and he placed her smaller palms flat on his chest before wrapping his arms around her waist.

"I could sense it in you last night," he whispered. "Every time you and I are together, I can feel it in you, your need to overpower me. You lust after it, don't you? That's what you want more than anything – to have me at your mercy," and he looked back into her eyes.

The thundering, tempting hum of her heartbeat and the heat radiating off her skin was becoming too much for him and he could feel his body tensing in anticipation.

"You want it now," he breathed, staring at her lips once more. "You may enjoy it when I hold you down, but you also want it to be the other way around. _You_ want a chance to be the dominant one, don't you?"

He reached up and took a lock of her hair between his two fingers, thoughtfully curling the strands around the digit.

"That power comes at a price, Miss Garret. The question is – are you willing to fight for it?" He kissed the curl before releasing it, feeling his sway on her increase. "I don't surrender easily," he purred. "Unlike _some_."

Her eyes snapped up when he said that and she stared challengingly at him. His gaze had the power to elicit strong shudders from her as if she were cold, the ice in his gaze enough to freeze fire. But there was another look his eyes could possess and it was the one he was giving her now and it made her blush wildly.

Oh, damn him and his supernatural seduction abilities.

But heaven help her, she still wanted him.

She wanted him to take her, right here, right now in this very library.

But he was challenging her, daring her to walk away from what she wanted and to make _him_ want instead.

So she took his challenge and reached around his person, grasping the cold brass of the doorknob and opening the door behind him.

"I'll think about it," was all she said and she moved past him, purposefully brushing her body against his as she did so.

Before he could respond, she had moved out into the hallway.

After regaining his composure, he quickly turned to follow after her.

"Hera!" he whispered harshly, not wanting to attract anyone else's attention but hers.

She looked back at him and smiled wickedly before continuing to head down the corridor, picking up her pace. She wanted him to chase her. Dracula chuckled, despite his frustrated amusement at her playful defiance.

"Hera, get back here this inst… _Ah Jane_. What are you doing here?" and he stopped when he noticed the housekeeper moving up the stairs.

"The storm has blown a fuse, my lord, and it would appear the lights are out."

"Is that so? I thought they just died on their own," was his sarcastic remark, but the stern look Jane gave him made him clear his throat of the chuckle that wanted out and he nodded his head "I see."

Hera had stopped when she realized the Count was no longer chasing after her and her eyes met the vampire's for just an instant before he diverted his attention back to the housekeeper who was still sending him a subtly disapproving look.

"Well then, it would be best to fix it then, won't it?"

"My lord, Janos is out in the city right now and he's the only one who knows how to work that piece of devilry."

"So what do you suggest I do then, Jane? Hmm? Go out there and fix it myself?"

"Master, I in no way suggested that. I just thought you ought to know that…"

"He's not man enough to fix it, Jane, there's no need to apologize," Hera interrupted, earning surprised glances from both vampires, but she just smiled. "I'll take a look at it if you wish. I have a general idea of how a fuse box works. Would you mind showing me where it is?"

"Are you questioning my masculinity now?" Dracula asked, absolutely bewildered. "You obstinate, headstrong woman, I ought to…"

"Count, you're nothing but a collection of hot air and hallow threats, so you may as well save your breath," she interrupted once more.

Dracula was on the verge of dragging her into the closest room and ravishing her senseless until she submitted and then screamed for more.

"Stop interrupting me," he warned as another roll of thunder boomed in the sky, reflecting his temperament. "I would hate to lose my temper with you, Miss Garret."

Hera, who by this point knew his range of moods well enough to understand that she was in no real danger, placed her hands on her hips and walked over to him, looking him boldly in the face.

"Yes, I'm sure you would," she answered, clearly not believing him.

They stared into each other's eyes for a few moments more before Hera glanced over at Jane and offered the housekeeper a radiant smile.

"When is supper?"

Jane looked awkwardly between Hera and the Count, taking note of the dark desire in her sire's eyes as he observed the human in silence.

"Um, in about three hours miss. Shall I send someone to call for you when it's ready?"

"Yes, thank you." She then nodded her head to Jane. "Jane." And then to Dracula. "Count."

With a dramatic turn, she started to move down the hall, disappearing around the corner. The two vampires watched her until she vanished from sight and then the servant spoke up first.

"She's in a rather… peculiar mood this evening."

"Indeed."

"I've never seen her so outspoken towards you before. Did you do something to provoke that?"

Dracula sent his housekeeper a look.

"Need I always be the reason for that woman's inexplicable behavior?"

Jane just smiled.

"No. But it's logical that it would have something to do with you," and she turned to head down the stairs. "Have you told her yet?"

"Told her what?" he called after her.

"What you've done to her."

Dracula glanced down at Jane, his expression softening as he sighed.

"No, I have not."

"And are you ever going to?" she asked, glancing behind her when she reached the lower floor, waiting for his answer.

But the Count never did answer. He remained silent as he disappeared down the corridor Hera had ventured, vanishing into the darkened hallway. The servant woman shook her head before continuing her descent down to the main floor.

"That's what I thought," she whispered disappointedly to herself.

* * *

He awoke in the early morning, naked in the darkness of his private bedchambers, the sound of music – a song he had never heard before – playing somewhere in a distant room. Dracula opened his eyes slowly and reached over to the other side of his bed where Hera had been sleeping, only to find that the space she had filled was empty, little more than an imprint of her body left on the sheets.

Her absence immediately brought him to full consciousness as he sat up in bed, his eyes searching for her. But then the music from before returned to his ears and he sighed, suspecting that his lover's absence and the sound of the pianoforte in the ballroom were connected.

In the past, he would have stayed right where he was in his bed, not caring if a lover had left him while he had been resting – but Hera was not an ordinary paramour, not to him. The song she was creating seemed to be calling to him from the other side of the house and he found he could not resist it.

Climbing out of bed to find a robe, he slipped out into the hall just as he finished tying the sash. The hour was just before sunrise, so the entire house had gone to rest for the day, and though Hera had adapted to the nocturnal lifestyle quite well, he wondered if their interlude just a few hours ago had given her perhaps a splash of inspiration.

He found her as suspected at the far end of the ballroom, seated at the handsome piano which was situated amongst the orchestra seats, the protective sheet pooled on the floor so the morning light that had started streaming into the room could reflect off of the instrument's glossy black surface. The Count leaned against the frame of the door that led into the ballroom, watching the young woman from a distance for a moment or two before properly interrupting her with his presence.

She was donning his silk dress shirt and what looked like little else, her hair pulled back into a luxurious mass at the base of her neck, one or two defiant wavy locks hanging in her face as she poured over the ivory keys.

It would never cease to amaze him – the music that came out of this woman.

Where it originated from he couldn't even begin to comprehend, although the only legitimate theory involved some kind of divine inspiration. He had thought her passionate when they made love just hours ago, but this – with her eyes closed in a look of serenity and her fingers dancing with masterful expertise across the keys – it was like she was in another place and time and he found himself longing to be there with her.

Dracula quietly made his way across the room, his footfall silent as to not disturb her, but when he was just a yard or two away from her, she must have sensed him, for she opened her eyes and stopped playing, turning in his direction.

"Oh heavens, I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" she asked quietly, a look of mild alarm wrinkling her brow.

"No, no, not at all," he insisted, not wishing to distress her. He didn't mind being awoken by the sound of her music, but assumed that if he told her as much, she'd go on apologizing and that wasn't what he wanted. "Please, don't let me interrupt you," and he waved his hand, encouraging her to continue as he stood beside the piano.

She started to play again, although with a timidity that hadn't been there before, but the tune she played was simple and beautiful and it satisfied him. He leaned against the instrument, observing her with an expression she could not read.

"Is something the matter, Vlad?" she then asked.

He smiled gently and moved to sit on her left on the bench.

"I was just admiring how well you play," he explained. "And how fetching you look in my shirt, too," and he ran the collar between two of his fingers a bit thoughtfully, loving the small blush that crept into her cheeks.

"I hope you don't mind," she replied. "I couldn't find my clothes anywhere in your room and – "

"Hera, it's quite alright. You don't need to keep apologizing or explaining yourself."

"Sorry."

He gave her a look.

"Alright, I'll stop," she promised, laughter in her eyes.

And she continued to play.

He watched her fingers now as they ran in rapid succession over the black and white ivory, the melody she was playing increasing in depth and complexity the longer he sat in silence beside her. It amazed him how fingers that had been so timid and yet so brazen just hours before when she had taken him in her hand, leading him into her scorching warmth, were now so easy and confident.

He couldn't help but long for the day when someday her hands would handle him the way she lovingly handled this instrument – with passion and familiarity.

The more he thought on it, the more he longed to be just as familiar with her.

He was a thorough lover.

Dracula understood the benefits of taking the time to explore a woman's body, every rise and swell, every valley, every inch of her until he knew intimately of her erogenous zones, just how to touch, to taste, to tease. The pleasure of his partner is what stirred his own passions, although he took much more satisfaction in Hera's sexual awakening than any other woman he had ever been responsible for.

Hera was something different in his eyes and perhaps if he didn't love her as he did, if he didn't know her and feel connected to her, perhaps he wouldn't have felt thus. But he did and he realized in that moment while enjoying the private concert that he could spend a lifetime getting to know the intricacies of this woman and he'd never fully know her – but the challenge appealed to him greatly.

He wanted to master Hera the way Hera had mastered this piano – and, even more – he wanted her to master him.

The Count had never had such a desire before, not with any woman, and as his brain began to replay the way he had surrendered control to her earlier in the evening, when he had let her ride him, deciding how fast and how deep and how hard – the experience had been oddly liberating for him, allowing him the luxury of losing himself in her.

Hera's song began to intensify, the rhythm building, growing, reminding him of the delicious friction their physical union had created and then he found himself wanting her again – in his bed or on this piano, he hardly cared. He needed to be in her, to be a part of her, one with her – and it was so much more than just a need for physical gratification.

He wanted to lose himself in her so he wouldn't be able to tell where he ended and she began.

Every moment she wasn't in his arms was a moment spent in private agony. His moment of failure the evening prior haunted him and though the vampire understood that though it would be better to come clean with Hera, to inform her of the situation - heaven forgive him, he was so afraid of losing her. That little voice in the back of his head had been struggling to rationalize his guilt away over the last twenty-four hours and with little success.

Count Dracula knew that Jane was right.

Hera had a right to know. But what would she do once he told her?

There was a rapidly growing insecurity in him that he was not accustomed to dealing with and it consistently shrank at the thought of this woman leaving him. He knew her superior sense of morality would insist that the babe she was carrying would threaten the very existence of humanity, that she would not risk the life of a hundred million souls all for the sake of some pawn in a game between demons and angels.

The truth of it was - despite the blissful domesticity they had been enjoying this past evening, if he was being honest with himself, the entire predicament still felt utterly hopeless.

In a way that was classically Dracula, the poor man was incapable of finding a single ray of hope amidst the ominous blackness that threatened to swallow him whole. Hera had always been his light in the darkness, and because of what he had done, he was terrified that no matter what decision he made, in the end, he'd lose a part of her somehow - whether it be her entirely or just that mortal aspect that he had come to adore so fervently. The mere suggestion of such a loss sent a wave of sadness over him and he reached out to touch her as if some unconscious part of him needed physical confirmation that she was still here at his side.

Hera stopped playing when Dracula suddenly rested his hand on her naked thigh, her warm eyes meeting the delicious chill of his glowing irises. She could tell he was hiding something, but what she couldn't even begin to imagine. She held his gaze with boldness, eyes searching as she reached up to brush a defiant strand of his hair from his face.

"Vlad, what is it?" she asked him with tenderness.

Dracula's heart simultaneously broke and swelled at her genuine concern.

"Come back to bed with me," he whispered, leaning his head forward so he could rest his brow against hers. "I need you."

He could not describe the way she looked at him in that moment, nor could he ever hope of articulating the way her gaze moved him so profoundly, but in that instant there was nothing Count Dracula loved more in the entire world than Hera Garret.

Who was this woman, he wondered silently to himself, and what had she done to him? Who was this siren, this goddess, this blessed angel from on high who made him feel so weak, so helpless, and yet so paradoxically powerful and unstoppable? He relished in every breath she took, in each rhythmic beating of her heart, in her every whimper and sigh as he leaned in to kiss her, and then touch her.

Their passions ignited shortly thereafter and with some difficulty, with some deliberation, the two lovers made it back to the bedroom.

When the Count made love to her that morning as the sun rose over the mountains, it was thorough, slow, and deep. She took every inch of him, never uttering a word of protest, even though he could see in her face the discomfort she felt at first, still growing accustomed to his girth, but her pleasure was what stirred him – her sounds of exquisite agony as they moved together in an age-old dance of feral eroticism, older than time itself, bodies moving with fluidity and an endless need.

He committed to memory every moan and gasp that left her lips, every breathless word she uttered, tracing them with his fingertips as he stared deep into her eyes, watching the sparks dance in her irises, the amber honey swirling around dilated pupils.

When she came undone beneath him that last time before the post-coital bliss set in, her fulfillment was so deep and so intense, it rippled through her for several long minutes and sent tears to leak from the corners of her eyes.

He continued to thrust inside of her, keeping a steady rhythm and being sure to hit the right spot every time so she could tumble over the edge over and over and over again. As she did, he drank from her neck, deep mouthfuls of warm blood overrun with delicious hormones that seemed to sweeten the taste.

And when the tension died and the exhaustion took over, they fell back asleep in each other's arms, Hera nestled in his embrace – where she belonged.


	47. Lie to Save

**This chapter pains me on so many different levels.**

 **I apologize in advance.**

* * *

 **XLVII**

 _ **Lie to Save**_

Her skin was so heavenly against his – soft, supple, and warm. Warm with a life that he dare not take from her. He couldn't imagine her any other way than how she was in this moment, sleeping soundly in _his_ bed, her copper hair askew on _his_ feather pillows, her body still and relaxed on _his_ mattress, _his_ linens hardly keeping her decent as he memorized her body in the dimming light of his room as the sun languidly dipped behind the horizon.

Dracula's fingertips had been softly tracing every contour, curve, and angle of her figure, particularly that of her barely protruding stomach, his child rapidly growing within her womb, making her hard-earned flat abdomen swell, but just barely. A sigh exited from his lips as his palm smoothed over her tummy and he felt his child respond within from the touch. His heightened senses could feel the tiny hand brush against the inside of her womb as if it knew he was there.

The man felt torn between a growing fatherly affection for the creature within his lover, and an underlying fear and hesitance at the understanding of what that babe was destined to become, of the very great evil it was inherently capable of.

But it was just an innocent child, wasn't it?

Not even the Count could fully answer that philosophical query, not when the devil's hand was involved in the child's conception, and so in an effort to assuage his guilt, he banished the worry from his mind. He would deal with that bridge when he got to it and not a moment sooner.

In an effort to distract himself, his eyes returned to the face of the slumbering human at his side and he sweetly caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers, smiling slightly when she unconsciously leaned into his touch. She felt warm against his body, a delicious mortal heat that he never wanted to live without.

Hera wasn't cold like his brides were.

Lust and strict obedience were not her motives.

It was humanly love and trust; something so weak and vulnerable, just like she was; and he loved her all the more for that vulnerability.

He was just about to rejoin her in that state of blissful sleep when a familiar presence caught his attention and he sat up immediately, eyes wide when he recognized _whose_ presence that was.

"Aleera," he mouthed.

Quickly getting out of bed, he raced into the bathroom to grab his clothes, rapidly changing before reentering the bedroom, covering Hera up so she was more decent. He then exited from the room in absolute silence, racing down the hall before materializing to the second floor where he found his orange-haired mistress standing in the darkened corridor, nothing but silence passing between them as Aleera's expression went notably blank when she became aware of the scent that was oozing from him.

Aleera's eyes darkened in rage as the truth became evident.

The smell of not only her master's heat, but also that of the mortal – Hera – flooded her senses when he had appeared in the hall. Before she could react, he quickly grabbed her by the arm and steered her into his private study, shutting the door behind them. Aleera's pride finally kicked in when she noticed the steady beating of the human's heart and her amethyst colored eyes became enraged.

Her clawed hands reached for the exit of his study as she started to hiss wildly, eager to tear the slumbering mortal to pieces. But the Count was faster than she, and he pushed himself in front of the doorway, shoving Aleera away as he locked them in, trying to fend off his remaining bride.

"I'll kill her," she kept growling. " _I'LL KILL HER!_ "

The Count grabbed hold of her wrists as his fangs lengthened and the sapphires in his sockets began to glow in a possessive anger.

" _Aleera!_ " he shouted, but she suddenly took a good clean swipe for his face, her nails meeting the flesh of his cheek head on, four gory lacerations appearing on his pale skin and she used his moment of distraction to fly for the door.

Dracula let out an infuriated growl and he grabbed the woman by her hair, throwing her violently across the room and against the opposite wall, the impact leaving a nice crack that ran from the floor to the ceiling. Aleera was in a heap of pink and red on the ground for just a moment or two until she reared her fiery head up to look at her sire, tears running down her pallid cheeks.

A woman's tears had never really touched him before – especially Aleera's, as hers had always been forced, a ploy to manipulate. But ever since Dracula had opened himself up to Hera, even his own brides had been finding ways into his dead heart. Guilt stabbed at the useless organ like a merciless needle, thin but effective, twisting as Aleera spat out her truth-filled words.

"You send us out to do your bidding. You put us into harm's way. You charm us into obeying your every whim… just so you could _fuck some pathetic mortal?!_ " she screamed, on her feet now as she stared him down, pointing an ugly finger into the direction of his bedchambers in which Hera peacefully slept. "She should mean _nothing_ to you!" Aleera exclaimed, so furious, she was shaking. "And yet it is _we_ , your faithful, devoted brides who are left out in the dark! You let some human _whore_ warm your bed while you send us all out to die! Do we truly mean nothing to you? Did we ever mean _anything_ to you? Velkan is dead and Verona has been destroyed because of your thoughtlessness, and instead of mourning your bride's destruction as you ought, you remain here with that red-headed tramp, you… you _monster_!"

She moved forward boldly, ready to strike him again, but he caught her small fists with ease, allowing her to weep into his chest as she fell to his feet, utterly hysterical.

"Why, master?" she wept, gripping his pants with her hands as she buried her face into his legs. "Why have you abandoned us?"

"I have not abandoned you, Aleera," he answered, very little emotion in his voice.

He couldn't even look at her.

"Then why does that _slut_ warm your bed while we are away? You could have summoned us at any time."

Despite the temptation to wring Aleera's neck for speaking of Hera in such a fashion, Dracula was _not_ about to confess the true reasoning behind the devout attentions he had been pouring on the human – then again, how much more harm could the truth inflict?

No, if Aleera knew the truth, there would be no stopping her.

She would not rest until Hera was dead, and he didn't have it in him to take the life of his remaining bride.

So he did what came naturally to him as the son of the devil –

He lied.

Sprinkling bits and pieces of truth along the way in an effort to appease her.

"She _relieved_ me, Aleera," he said, and without the struggle he was truly feeling in his tightened chest.

Naturally, the woman didn't understand at first and he could see this in her expression. With as much charm and mildness as he could muster, he took her hands in his and led her to her feet before him.

"What do you mean?"

"She relieved me while you and Verona were away," he explained.

Aleera still didn't understand, but when the silence overtook her, something _else_ caught her attention, and it wasn't the incessant beating of Hera's heart. It was that of another… softer… gentler. And just as strong.

It was the heartbeat of a child.

The bride's eyes widened in evident disbelief.

"She's pregnant," came the death-like whisper, her eyes filling with sudden understanding. "Your… your curse. You got her _pregnant_ ," and she sent a bewildered gaze up to her master. "You got _that whore_ pregnant?!" she practically shrieked, but he silenced her immediately.

"Aleera, listen to me," he began, but she cut him off—something she had never dared do before.

"What's wrong with _our_ children?" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down, despite the circumstances and the temptation to start yelling at him. He wanted to rebuke her for interrupting him, but her question took him off guard, so he let it slide. "I know they are born dead… but Van Helsing! He has the monster with him! And I kidnapped the princess! We could trade the princess for the monster! We don't need that bastard child! We can bring our own to life!"

"But what if something happens?" he suddenly snapped at her, growing impatient with her insolence. "What if the plan fails? What if the monster doesn't work? What if we bring all of our children to life, Aleera, and something happens to you or to me? _They_ all die with us! And my entire dream, all of that hard work goes to hell! _Don't you understand?_ " he nearly shouted, his anger getting the better of him as he pointed to the door. "Hera is the backup plan! She has _always_ been the back-up plan!"

Aleera's mouth dropped when he said that and the atmosphere in the room changed completely.

"That 'bastard child,' as you call it, is the _key_ to world domination, Aleera. The preservation of our kind, our race! That child with its beating heart is the most powerful vampire in existence, second only to _me_ ," and he jutted his fingers into his chest with passion. "My child, the one in her womb, when it matures and comes of age, will be immune to _all_ things that our race detests. With one bite from that babe when it is grown, it can convert _all_ vampires in existence, making them immune to sunlight, silver, crucifixes, stakes… all of it, Aleera! Nothing, not a single creature on this cursed earth will ever _dare_ to threaten us again! Not even the Knights of the Holy Order will stand a chance. And you... _you_ will be able to see the sun rise again! _You_ will be able to walk in the light without fear! And every creature of the night born hereafter will be of that new and improved race! Don't you see?" he asked her, grabbing her by her arms now and shaking her slightly as if trying to get her to understand.

"I _had_ to use Hera," he explained. "I knew from the beginning that I could persuade her onto our side, that I could make her willing. It worked out _far_ better than I had ever hoped it to be," he whispered. "She's fallen in love with me, Aleera! _Yes_ I took advantage of her, _yes_ I had to push you and your sisters away, and _yes_ I have had to lie and cheat and charm and deceive to be where we are standing now. But Aleera…we are _so close_ to success. Just think of it..."

He gently turned her around so her back was to him and he snaked his arms around her waist, pulling her into his arms, his chin resting atop her shoulder, lips caressing her skin as he spoke sweet poison into her ear.

"After we have obtained the monster, our children will live. And in six days' time, Hera will give birth. After the child is born, she will die, and _you,_ Aleera…" and he began to plant seductive kisses along the pale curve of her shoulder as he pulled down the left sleeve of her gown, exposing an ample amount of her well-endowed bosom, "… _You_ will be my one and only queen," he purred in her ear, a twisted, malevolent smile on his charming lips.

"You were always my strongest and most loyal bride," he continued, kissing every inch of her shoulder as one of his hands cupped the exposed flesh of her breast and he squeezed it in his hand, making the woman croon. "You have twice the fire of Marishka and more devotion than Verona ever had. You have been a most faithful and pleasing companion, my love."

"So you just used her?" Aleera clarified, her breathing hitched as her master practically undressed her in the center of the room. He pulled her flush against him and she could feel his need pressing into her ass and she let out a wanton moan. "Oh _master…_ "

"Yes Aleera, my pet," he purred darkly and he spun her around, pinning her back to the door, taking one of her breasts in his hand and lifting it up towards his mouth. "I used every… single… inch of her," and he took her nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue around it, seducing his own bride into _his_ way of thinking, taking her trust and abusing it… using her as he used everyone else.

"She means nothing to me," he lied after removing his wet mouth from her breast, a sexed-up daze in his eyes. But it vanished almost immediately as he abruptly grabbed hold of her fiery hair and tugged it roughly, forcing her to look into his eyes. "But if you lay a single finger on her without my permission, I will destroy you without a second thought and I will let her live _just_ to spite you. Do you understand?" he hissed with animosity.

Aleera nodded, following it up with a "yes, my lord" before the harshness in his face melted back into nothing but sadistic charm and he released her hair, taking a step back as if he was completely unmoved by her.

"Very good. Now then, I want you to find Van Helsing, and see if he will agree to an exchange of the monster for Anna Valerious." He then motioned with his eyes for her to leave. "Go."

She obeyed without question, fixing herself up just before she turned around and exited from the room, vanishing from his sight.

When Aleera was finally gone, Dracula exhaled loudly, rubbing the spot between his eyes out of habit before deciding to turn around and head back to bed. But when he finally took note of the rest of the room, he observed Jane hidden in a shadowed corner, rag in hand and the half-dusted bookshelf behind her.

Realizing that he hadn't been alone, as he had thought, he jumped in surprise, but quickly recovered himself, putting on a polite smile out of habit.

"Ah, Jane. I didn't know you were in here," he laughed nervously.

The servant's face was hard, as if she were enraged beyond what was decent for a woman of her station.

"No, I suppose you were too busy with the mistress to realize I've been standing here the entire time."

A flash of guilt etched across his features, but he feebly attempted to hide it as best he could, reaching for the handle of the door so he could escape her unforgiving scrutiny.

"Oh. Well, then… goodnight," and he made an attempt to retreat.

"Is it true?" Jane demanded of him.

Dracula stopped with a sigh before turning to face the servant.

He was caught - and he knew it. But he'd deny everything if he had to. Lying about Hera to his bride was one thing… but admitting to weakness was another.

"Is _what_ true, Jane? I don't have time for guessing games."

"I am not some foolish and ignorant trollop, Vladislaus! Now stop acting like an impudent child and tell me if what you told Aleera is true!"

"Of course it's true!" he snapped without thinking about what he was saying.

Jane stepped back, a look of pain flashing over her features. He suddenly realized what he had just admitted to and he struggled to back-track.

"No, wait, Jane… I didn't mean that," but she interrupted him before he could even hope to explain.

"Yes you did!" she shouted at him. "How could you do this to her, master? How could you?"

"Jane, everything I just told Aleera isn't exactly all…"

"What? All true?" she challenged, a knowing look in her eyes. "I've known you long enough Vladislaus to know when you're up to something. I've known you long enough to know how conniving, vicious, self-centered, and unrepentantly _evil_ you can be!" she screamed at him, eyes filled with disappointment. "And I allowed myself for a brief moment to believe that you had changed, that _she_ had somehow changed you. But apparently you've gotten so good at lying that I didn't notice it when it was happening right beneath my own nose! How could you _use_ Hera like that, master? She loves you. She _loves_ you!"

Dracula started to lose his patience.

He _hated_ being interrupted, and it had happened three times now in the past ten minutes! But even worse, he hated the accusations she was throwing at him. It was like being stabbed repeatedly with a hundred tiny daggers, not deep enough to kill, but enough for it hurt immensely.

"Jane," he tried again, his tone on edge, "I _will_ speak, and you _will_ listen…" but naturally his attempts at regaining control were pointless.

Jane was beside herself.

"How could you take advantage of her?" the housekeeper continued, so hysteric, she had forgotten her place. "How could you _lie_ to her, misuse her trust and get her _pregnant_ , of all things, and with that _demon_ inside of her? You are more of a monster than I had _ever_ imagined, Vladislaus Drăculea. I never thought I'd see the day where you'd sink as low as to seduce and take advantage of a young, impressionable _human_ _girl_ , a mere child who was honest in her affections and gave you _everything_ she had! She loves you! She _trusts_ you! And the fact that you _made_ her believe you loved her back and then you have the… the _audacity_ to lie to her face, to take advantage of her like some bloody, worthless…"

His eyes went black as he lost his temper and he began to advance toward the servant with promised punishment in his eyes. The room darkened considerably and the temperature dropped as consequence.

"Jane, you will be silent!" he shouted. "And you will _let_ me explain without any more interruptions!"

But Jane wouldn't hear him.

She just pointed at the door, angry tears streaming down her face.

"You march back to her _right now_ and tell her the truth, Vladislaus!" she demanded, overcome with the maternal instincts she had been suppressing for centuries now. "You tell Hera everything!"

Dracula towered over her now and he reached out to grab her by the throat, when…

"Tell me what?" came a voice and the two vampires turned to see Hera's rather groggy face peeking through the door from out in the hall. "What's going on?" she yawned.

She suddenly noticed the tears on Jane's face and the guilty expression in the Count's eyes and the human became concerned, sending a look over to Dracula who had calmed the instant she entered the room.

"Vlad? What's wrong?"

Dracula could do nothing but look back and forth between Hera and Jane, doing his best to ignore Jane's mental screaming in his head. He sent the servant a venomous look, promising later reprimand, before returning his attention to Hera, his countenance affectionate and serene.

"Jane wanted me to inform you," he began, but he stopped himself.

He looked deep into Hera's warm and loving eyes and felt his heart melt. He couldn't tell her. He loved her too much. Yes, a great deal of what he told Aleera had been the original plan, but it was a lie now.

Wasn't it?

But what if it wasn't?

What if his love for her was an illusion, a passing whim or fancy, his subconscious grappling with his guilt?

He knew deep down that it could not be so. He loved Hera with every fiber of his being; he just wasn't _used_ to this, as sad as his excuse was.

Either way, he refused to be the reason for any of Hera's tears, not right now. He still had time to set things right... he would continue to bide his time. Dracula smiled and offered his hand to her, which she took without question, allowing him to lead her into his embrace as he kissed the top of her head, holding her close.

"I'm afraid I must be the bearer of some bad news," he began. "Aleera has returned with word that Verona and Velkan have been killed."

Hera didn't seem too surprised by this information, though it was clear she was still upset by it.

"Yes, I had a feeling," the woman confessed. "Though it was meant to happen, I am still sorry for your loss, Vlad. I know how much Verona meant to you."

Hera's sincerity moved him and he caressed the side of her face.

"I confess, I had felt her passing in the night, but did not wish to disturb you with the news, though I suppose it cannot be helped, now that it has indeed been confirmed. Verona will be missed, but I am grateful to have you to ease the pain of her passing, my love," he said, trying to ignore the look of complete and utter disgust that marred Jane's expression. "But I'm afraid that's not all. I fear you will not be able to attend the ball tomorrow evening."

"Why ever not?"

It was a wonder the guilt hadn't eaten him alive yet.

"Aleera has just arrived here with Anna," he explained, "and knowing Van Helsing as well as I do, he won't make the trade I have proposed: the monster for the princess. Since I must keep an eye on Anna for the duration of the evening, I won't be able to keep an eye on you – at least as well as I'd prefer. I would feel much better if you were safe in my chambers for the night, away from the rest of my kind. I don't want any of them trying to steal you away from me," he added with a slight chuckle, neither of them noticing Jane's eye-roll.

"I understand," Hera replied. "Very well, I will stay out of sight, if that is what you wish. Thank you for caring. You are too good to me, Vlad."

He kissed her tenderly in response.

"Very good. Now then, back to bed my dear. I will be with you in a moment."

Hera nodded and retreated out into the hall, offering a goodnight to Jane before disappearing.

When Hera was gone, Dracula finally found the strength to look over at his housekeeper, the woman who had known him for almost as long as he could remember. Her expression was one of utter revulsion, but she remained silent.

"You will not tell her anything, Jane," he ordered her, a pointed finger in her direction. "If anyone tells her, it shall be me. This is my mess and I _will_ fix it when the time is right. Understand?"

Jane took a step forward and slapped him as hard as she could across the face before spitting out the words, "Yes, _master_ ," and she marched into the hall, disappearing around the corner, leaving Dracula with a physical reminder of how much he had just fucked things up pulsating on his left cheek.

The Count was getting far too tangled up in all of these lies, and it wouldn't be long before hell would break loose. He felt physically ill when he reentered his bedchambers to find Hera dozing off on his bed, the half-baked truths he had told Aleera and Jane's following reprimand still ringing in his ears.

He crawled into bed with the human, instinctively wrapping his arms around her in a semi-possessive manner as if in fear that she'd leave him. Dracula allowed her to snuggle into his chest, but when he sensed the life growing inside of her, his guilt speared and he suddenly felt ill.

What had he done?

* * *

 **Looks like Dracula has dug himself into quite the hole. And unfortunately it's only going to get deeper from here.** **And poor Hera... no masquerade ball for her :(** *le sigh*

 **New chapter goes live Monday! Until then, enjoy your weekend and don't forget to review!  
**

 **-T**


	48. Used Again

**Thank you to** Scarlet Empress **,** violetrose18 **,** Madam Silver **,** She-Devil Red **,** Countess **,** 12345678910 **,** the invisible reader **,** ForsakenStar22 **,** alexc1209 **,** RegencyPoet **,** BornRose2 **,** Bloodsired **,** VAMPFAN666 **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** Cosmopolitan Countess **,** DreamBubbles **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** Kiriari **,** Kiki's Stories of Awesomeness **,** tfwnogfdracula **,** ShadowSpade **, and** Nyx-Arae **for reviewing over the last 3 days!**

 **I know a couple of you are very apprehensive about the future of this story and Hera & Dracula as a couple in general. Without totally spoiling it, please remember that although things are going to get pretty _intense_ in the next few chapters, like most things in life - the chaos will sort itself out. **

**If for whatever reason you decide at any point that this story is not for you, I of course respect your decision and would ask you to please be equally respectful in your departure. That is all I am going to say on that point.**

 **Feedback on the chapter would be appreciated.**

 **And now for the biggest miscommunication in the history of miscommunications...**

* * *

 **XLVIII**

 _ **Used Again**_

"Now that everything is… as it should be," the Count drawled, a twisted smirk of triumph on his face, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give to you… _VAN HELSING!_ " and he raised his hands above him in the air, gesturing to the hunter and the princess standing on the balcony.

The entire crowd rushed forward, shrieking like banshees.

Anna was already moving. Turning to a nearby decorative suit of armor, she ripped the arm off, sticking her hand down the sleeve and into its metal glove, which was attached to a steel mace bristling with spikes. Van Helsing didn't know how much good the weapon would do them, but the princess had a pleased look on her face.

Apparently, she was more than willing to die, just as long as she could break the Count's face in the process. He rolled his eyes and yanked her into the hallway.

"Come on!" he yelled impatiently, pulling her into a run.

"Where are we going?" Anna asked, following him.

The hunter pointed to a huge stained-glass window depicting angels, cherubs, and saints.

"Through that window!"

"Are you out of your _mind?_ " she shrieked. "We'll be cut to ribbons!"

"Not if you relax when you're going through it," he replied, starting to race towards the glass. At the last second, he saw something strange about one of the images: a saint who held his hand up as if to say, "Stop!"

Van Helsing's instincts were screaming and he suddenly grabbed Anna and skidded to a halt.

"My mistake: wrong window."

"How do you know?" she asked incredulously.

"Just a hunch," he replied, smelling something rank and corrupt nearby.

He pulled Anna forward, sensing that the vampires were behind them.

Soon he could hear Dracula's laugh echoing through the palace. He made a series of turns, hoping to lose the mob of vampires behind them. On instinct again, he led the princess up a set of stairs and through large double doors, the vampires still hot on their trail.

Something was off; the hunter could feel it coursing through his veins.

They weren't the only mortals in this palace. He focused his senses and could feel Anna's heartbeat beside him, Carl's was up ahead… but there were two others. Deciding not to give it any more thought for now, he motioned for the door ahead of them.

"Hurry!" he shouted as they made it through the doors.

He and Anna quickly closed and bolted it shut behind them, praying the doors would hold for at least a few seconds. Loud pounding fell upon it, and the two rushed down the corridor. A moment later, Carl raced around a corner to meet them. The friar saw Van Helsing and Anna running toward him and he held up the lava contraption from the Vatican's underground armory.

"Now I know what it's for!" Carl shouted excitedly. Then he looked to the Roman and asked, "Where are we going?"

"Through that window!" the princess and hunter shouted together.

Carl shrugged and pulled the pin on his device, placing it carefully on the floor just as his two companions grabbed hold of his arms on the run and took him through the ancient stained glass. They fell two stories and landed in something chilly… and wet.

 _Water,_ Van Helsing's mind immediately told him. _It's just water._

His entire body had disappeared beneath the surface and when he came up again, he saw that Carl and Anna were nearby. The smell of the place was almost overpowering: It reeked of mold and decay.

They were in some sort of old, rotting catacomb, a dozen or so feet below ground level and surrounded by tunnels connected by paths and putrid streams. A sudden explosion of light came from the palace above them and a moment later, gouts of flesh and gore dropped all around them. The stench was terrible –and Van Helsing had thought vampires smelled bad when they were all in one piece.

"Carl, you're a genius!" he shouted happily.

The friar was looking a little worried about what he had just witnessed.

"A genius with access to very unstable chemicals."

There was more noise behind them and he realized that both his hearing and sense of smell felt as if they had intensified in power.

 _Strange,_ he thought absentmindedly.

He turned to see a long boat with Dracula's assistant, Igor, yelling commands to a dozen or so of those terrible Dwergi… and Frankenstein's monster was chained to the mast of the boat.

Despite their best efforts, they couldn't reach the monster in time and Dracula and his final bride had escaped without so much as a scratch, taking off into the night air. The anger and sense of failure ate wildly at the Roman to the point that he could hear his own voice deepening, his own skin flushing as his hand began to bear down on Carl's throat after hearing the news the friar had received from the Vatican.

As Anna tried to pry the two men apart, something screamed in Van Helsing's head.

No. No, Carl was his friend. Carl would try to help him… not betray him…

His rage ebbed, leaving him feeling ashamed as he released the friar and stared at his trembling hands. Through force of will, he got hold of himself, balling his hands into fists and exhaling deeply. The werewolf venom was giving him more than heightened senses.

The rage… the madness…

Van Helsing looked at Anna, trying to hide the fear he felt, but she could see it in him.

"It's starting," he said, but from the expression on the princess' face, he could see that she already knew. A thick tension lingered between the three of them until he decided to break it, not caring for the looks he was receiving. "We should get changed before we head back to Visceria," he muttered, moving to climb out of the rising water.

He helped pull Anna and Carl to the surface and they moved around the walls of the palace until they were able to find an entrance. With a nice kick to the door, it came crashing open and the smell that overpowered them was revolting. They had entered what looked like a kitchen, and the sight they were now witnessing as they made their way through the palace reminded Van Helsing of the catacombs of Paris, although less bones and more ash and gore.

The remains of the vampires who had met the light of Carl's contraption were scattered everywhere. It looked like a massacre and the smell was nauseating.

Anna had removed one of her gloves to cover her mouth and nose as they moved up the main flight of stairs following after the princess who led them to a room. After the chamber was secured, Carl was sent out to get their clothes that had been hidden in the cemetery as Van Helsing decided to check out the rest of the house.

He had sensed another heartbeat earlier… two to be precise…

It took him a moment to find it again, but when he did, he honed in on it, following the sound as he made his way through the dark, winding halls. Sniffing the air instinctively, he caught wind of something. A woman, and a familiar woman at that. He moved over to the wall and inhaled deeply, catching more of the scent.

"Hera," he whispered, recognizing it. He started to run through the halls, calling out the woman's name. "Hera? Hera! Hera, where are you?" he shouted, soon recalling Carl's tale of how the Count had kidnapped her - _again_.

The scent grew stronger and the two heartbeats grew louder as he made his way through the east wing of the palace.

"Hera!"

Finding a door at the end of a hall, he kicked it open and stopped in his tracks when he found her. She was lying in the center of an enormous bed in a loose-fitting dress, the room dark. The space reeked of a familiar man.

"Dracula," the hunter hissed as he made his way over to the bed. "Hera? Hera… wake up!"

When she wouldn't awaken, he shook her slightly.

"Hera!"

But she was still – still and silent.

He threw the covers off of her and his eyes fell upon her stomach. _I don't remember her having much of a belly_ he thought to himself. Not thinking anything of it for the time being, he scooped her up into his arms and started to run towards the room he had left Anna in.

"Anna! Carl!"

Carl had made it back to Anna's room with their clothes by the time Van Helsing could be seen, running down the hall with an unconscious Hera in his arms.

"Van Helsing, what's going on?" Anna asked, her eyes widening when she recognized the woman he was carrying. "Hera? Oh my God, HERA! What happened to her?" she shouted.

"She's unconscious. I think I found her in Dracula's bedchambers," he explained.

"You _think_?"

"I don't know, Anna! Just… help me!" and he pushed his way into the bedroom, followed closely by Carl and the princess who watched as the hunter put the woman down on the bed.

"Is she breathing?" Anna asked.

Van Helsing turned Hera's head to check her neck and he grimaced.

"He bit her again… but she's still alive. I can hear her heart bea-" but then he stopped abruptly.

Both the friar and the princess watched as Van Helsing's eyes widened considerably, the man taking several steps back from the bed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"It's not possible," he whispered.

But his senses were picking up two.

Not one heartbeat, but two!

And both of them were coming from Hera.

He stared at her gently protruding stomach and crossed himself, muttering a prayer in Latin.

"Van Helsing, what's going on?" Carl asked.

Snapping back into reality, the hunter grabbed his clothes from Carl's arms and pulled out the silver stake from among the array of his clothing.

"Van Helsing, what are you doing?" Anna shouted when he took three powerful strides across the room to Hera's bedside, raising the stake above his head. Both Anna and Carl had to seize his arm to keep him from stabbing the slumbering woman. "No! What are you doing? Van Helsing, stop it!"

"We have to kill it! We have to kill it before she gives birth!"

"Gives birth to what?" Anna yelled at him. "Are you insane?"

"She's carrying Dracula's child!"

Both Anna and Carl stopped dead in their tracks as time seemed to stand still for the three of them.

"She's pregnant," Van Helsing explained, whispering as if it made a difference.

"How- how is that possible?" the princess inquired, not willing to believe it. "Dracula can't father live children. All of his offspring are born dead – you and I saw them."

"What month was Dracula banished by your ancestor? Valerious the Elder?" Carl suddenly inquired.

" _What_? What does _that_ have to do with anything? Carl, Hera is pregnant with Dracula's _child!_ This isn't the time for…"

"What date, Anna? Surely you must know!" the friar interrupted.

"I… I don't know! The last week in October, maybe? I can't remember the exact date. But it was in the last week of…" her voice trailed off when she started to draw the connection.

"It's his anniversary," Carl replied.

"His _what_?" the hunter asked incredulously.

"The anniversary of his birth… Dracula's birth as a vampire. Or rather the completion of his transition. I remember reading something about its significance…"

"What's going on?" a small voice asked from behind and the three turned to see Hera had awakened. She rubbed her head and groaned as she sat up. "What happened?"

No one answered.

All they could do was stare at her, unsure of what to think. When her vision finally cleared up a bit, she turned her head to see the trio.

"What are you doing here? What's going on? Where am I?"

"You're safe," was Carl's answer. "For now anyway."

"What do you mean I'm safe? When was I in danger?"

"The moment you threw yourself into the clutches of Dracula," Van Helsing answered bitterly. "I see you've gotten what you wanted, Miss Garret."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, genuinely confused by his thinly veiled anger. "I… I don't understand."

"Tell me, what is it like to be the whore of the devil? Are you proud of the life that is growing inside of you?"

" _Van Helsing_ ," Anna chastised softly, but he ignored her, finally seeing where Hera's allegiances had always resided.

"Van Helsing, what are you talking about?" Hera asked, a new-found sense of dread tightening in her chest as she sat on the edge of the bed, watching as he paced madly across the floor, sending her some of the nastiest looks she had _ever_ received.

The whore of the devil? Proud of the life growing inside her?What was _that_ supposed to mean?

"You can't honestly look me in the face and tell me you don't know," he snapped at her.

"I'm being completely honest with you, Gabriel; I have no fucking clue what you're talking about!" Hera nearly shouted, starting to get angry with him.

But considering the strain the Roman had been under, he snapped, giving Hera the loudest and rudest wake-up call she'd _ever_ be given.

"You're carrying Dracula's child!" the hunter suddenly shouted at her. "You slept with him, the son of the devil himself, and you let that demon seed germinate inside of you!"

Hera's eyes widened considerably, taken aback by the sudden piece of information.

"W-what?" she stammered. "That's… that's not p-possible."

"Oh _really_? Then explain why I can hear two heartbeats coming from you! Explain why you are saturated in his stench, why his bastard child thrives in your womb! You _…_ " and he raised his hand to back-hand her, but Anna caught him before he could get too far.

"Van Helsing that is enough!" Anna shouted.

"That woman has lied to you, Anna," he replied, getting in Anna's face and pointing in Hera's direction, filled with self-righteous indignation and disgust. "She has deceived your family, used your brother. She got him killed! She is undoubtedly the reason why he had to work for Dracula in the first place. She probably even knew about your father's death and didn't bother tell you. I wouldn't be surprised if she's been sleeping with your family's enemy for months now! You cannot trust her!"

Anna looked between Hera and the hunter, genuinely torn as her emotions started to get the better of her.

It was clear that the present evidence was _not_ in Hera's favor and although Anna wanted desperately to believe that this was all a misunderstanding, Van Helsing's argument was compelling. But she would not condemn her friend when they didn't have all the details – not after everything they had been through.

"Van Helsing, there must be a reason," she began, but the hunter interrupted her, throwing his hands up into the air.

"I can't _believe_ this! You actuallybelieve all that rubbish she's thrown at you? Anna, she could have been hand-feeding Dracula information about you for months!"

"That's not true, I never did that!" Hera exclaimed, tears streaming down her face. "And I didn't use Velkan, _he_ used _me_! Dracula told me the truth from the beginning! He has always told me nothing but the truth!"

The Roman fell silent as he glanced over at Hera as if he had just had an epiphany.

The expression on her countenance softened him and with a deep breath, he got control over his temper.

"Velkan wasn't using you, Hera," he suddenly explained. "The Count was."

Hera shook her head, refusing to believe.

"No… no that's not true. He wouldn't. I know he was taking advantage of me in the beginning because he told me he was, but things changed. He loves me, Gabriel. He's not the same as he was before…"

But Van Helsing just shook his head once more.

"He lied to you, Hera," he answered solemnly. "He's been taking advantage of you the entire time. He made you believe Velkan was using you and now you're carrying his bastard child, which – knowing how monstrous he is – was probably part of the plan the entire time. It was all a lie, Hera. He's a villain. He never meant any of it."

Hera's vision blurred as her eyes prickled.

She didn't want to believe it, but how could she do otherwise? Dracula was gone and without a word of explanation or any indication that he had plans to return. He had left her here in Budapest – unguarded and alone. He had his monster and it was like she didn't matter anymore. But she couldn't believe it – for if it was indeed true… she couldn't even finish the thought.

"No, that's not true."

"Actually, it could very well be," Carl chimed in. "If history and legend proves to be right, this last week, Dracula has been experiencing… well, fertility. It's part of his curse. I remember reading about it in one of your ancestor's journals," he replied, glancing over at Anna. "Every hundred years during the week of his anniversary, one day of that week he experiences a very powerful needing… like a female in heat, only he's a man and he needs a woman, and…"

" _Carl…_ " Anna and Van Helsing said at once.

"Right. Well, during that specific time, he lets out a very potent scent, like animals do when trying to attract a mate. Only this is a scent that entices human women instead of vampires. He must have intercourse with a physically _and_ emotionally willing mortal woman – there must be no use of force or coercion on his part, and if he does this and if the conditions are right, he can get her pregnant. Although the child the woman will carry is no ordinary human child. It's a special breed of vampire, a vampire immune to sunlight, silver… everything. Some of your ancestors, Anna, even believed it to be the anti-Christ, the spawn of the devil, far worse than the likes of Dracula. Even if we somehow killed the Count, this offspring would continue to flourish unless physically destroyed in its early hours of life," he explained before glancing over at Hera who looked three shades paler.

"Hera, I know this is a very sensitive and personal question, but have you been… _intimate_ with Dracula during the past week? Even before he brought you here?"

Her silence and the expression on her face told them everything.

She was positively ashen with guilt.

"Yes…" she whispered inaudibly, shame in her eyes. "Yes I did. But it was after he brought me here."

"Do you remember smelling anything during any of your encounters with him?" Carl then inquired, grabbing her hands which felt so much colder than he ever remembered them being.

Pitiful tears tumbled down her face as the realization came to her.

She felt disgusted with herself, humiliated, jaded, filthy… _used_.

"Yes," she cried softly. "I remember. That night Jane, the housekeeper, had told me that he had insisted I not disturb him while he worked… and then… then he came. I didn't know what I was doing, Carl! I didn't know!" she sobbed, covering her mouth with one of her hands as she cried. "He must not have known! He wouldn't do that to me… he wouldn't…"

Van Helsing grabbed Hera's hands, which were now shielding her face, and he forced them down, pulling her to stand so she'd look into his eyes.

"He knew what he was doing, Hera," he said firmly. "He _knew_ the entire time."

"But he ordered for me to stay away from him earlier that evening! He didn't want to do it to me! It's not his fault! He just wasn't strong enough! I should have pushed him away… but I didn't know! I couldn't help it! This isn't his fault!"

"Yes it is, Hera!" he said a bit louder, shaking her slightly as she continued to sob. "He _used_ you. He used you, Hera. He knew what he was doing the whole time."

"No."

"He knew you would trust him."

"Please, stop!"

"He knew he could use your good impression of him and twist it. He took advantage of you, Hera!"

"Stop it, please! No more! NO MORE!" she bawled, her heart breaking with every harsh truth. "No, no, no… It's not true! It's not true! Oh God, why…" and she fell into Van Helsing's arms, sobbing, not willing to believe.

But it all made sense.

And the sudden movement she felt within her womb made the reality harsher.

"Yes it is true," a weak voice whispered from the doorway.

The company turned to see Jane, badly burned on the floor in the doorway, her body slowly turning to ash as she crawled into the room.

Carl's device apparently got to everyone; even the servants Hera had grown to love.

The young woman pushed herself out of the hunter's arms and quickly moved over to the disintegrating vampire, falling to her knees beside the woman and cradling her head on her lap.

"The hunter is telling the truth. The master did use you. He admitted to it last night," Jane explained weakly. Hera's tears continued to fall down her face in despair. "He told Aleera. He forbade me to tell you, but you… you have the right to know, to see…" and she held up her hand.

Clasped in her palm was a small vial filled with a liquid that looked like blood. Jane held it up for Hera, and the mortal took it hesitantly.

"Drink it, child," Jane rasped. "Drink it and know the truth. I thought the master truly did love you. I thought you had changed him, I really did. But it would appear his hatred runs too deep. Ilona did that to him. There was nothing you could have done to help him, to save him."

"Why did he do it, Jane? Why?"

Jane touched the human's face tenderly, brushing away a tear as the lower half of her body turned to ash, the rest of her burns eating away at her flesh.

"Ilona created an ugly black in his soul. He's been at war with the world and has loathed and mistreated our sex ever since. But it's not your fault, Miss Garret," she whispered as the rest of her body disintegrated. "It's not your fault… He used us all," and with those last words, Jane's soul slipped away as the rest of her body was consumed and then she was gone.

Hera could hardly see through her tears as she stood up eventually, brushing the ash off her dress. Her hands then ran slowly over her slightly protruding stomach, a twinge of pain and revulsion furrowing her brow at the mere sight of it. She started to move towards the door when Van Helsing called out to her.

"Where are you going?"

"I need to make a decision," she answered quietly, turning to look back at him. She then glanced down at the small vial of blood.

"What decision?"

"Of whether or not I should help you," she whispered. "I'll be back; I promise," and she exited from the room.


	49. Retribution, the Villain, & - Part 1

**IT IS ALLIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVVEEEEEEEEE! ... for now, anyway.**

 **Sheesh, I don't know about you guys, but the surprise maintenance that was being done on the site over the last 24 hours was super irritating, especially since no one knows what the hell is going on. Well, at least we're up and running right now. Hopefully it'll last long enough for me to finish this story.**

 **Anywho, will be posting yesterday's and today's chapters to play catch-up.**

 **A huge thanks to** She-Devil Red **,** alexc1209 **,** the invisible reader **,** Madam Silver **,** Scarlet Empress **,** Nyx-Arae **,** Bloodsired **,** Guest **,** BornRose2 **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** RegencyPoet **,** violetrose18 **,** 12345678910 **,** ForsakenStar22 **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** Cosmopolitan Countess **,** DreamBubbles **, and** ShadowSpade **for reviewing on Monday** (before the site went down) **. You guys are awesome :)**

 **Would appreciate your feedback on this chapter and the next, especially given the content. Thank you for your continued support and forgive any errors I may have missed! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **XLIX**

 _ **Retribution, the Villain, & Self-Sacrifice**_

 _ **Part I**_

The trio were seated at the foot of the stairs in the foyer, waiting for what felt like an age for Hera to come down. She had been locked away in one of the bedrooms for at least an hour, the rest of the Vilkova palace as dead as a doornail – in a literal and figurative sense.

Everyone was dressed and dry; they had a carriage out front that was ready to go.

All they needed was Hera.

Anna leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she counted the tiles on the floor for the third time. There was a very awkward silence between them all, everyone lost in their own thoughts.

"Perhaps one of us should go up and look for her, make sure she's alright?" Carl offered, not exactly enjoying the tension.

"There's no need Carl," came Hera's voice from the top of the stairs. "I'm right here… and I'll be fine."

Anna stood up from her spot on the stairs and the company all turned to look up at the woman descending. Hera had changed out of the dress she had been put in, into a pair of stretchy black trousers, similar to the ones Anna was wearing, coupled with a loose blouse, and a heavy coat that fell to the back of her knees.

Van Helsing cleared his throat.

"So, have you made your decision?" he inquired, deciding they had wasted enough time.

Hera managed a smile.

"Thank you for your concern, Mr. Van Helsing. I'm _fabulous_ ," she replied sarcastically. The hunter rolled his eyes and sent her a look. "You truly are an impatient one."

"Surprisingly enough, I'm only impatient when I'm around you," he smirked.

Hera managed a chuckle, though her eyes were utterly lifeless.

"Yes, I'm sure." She then glanced over at Anna. "I'll help you," she said softly. "And I'm sorry it took me so long to choose a side. I realize now that it was inevitable, and I'm sorry for what I've put you through. I hope you can forgive me."

Then her attention returned to Van Helsing.

"I am willing to make up for what I have done, however. Jane was telling the truth. Dracula _was_ using me. After the things I heard and saw from Jane's memory, I realize now that despite what my heart pleads, this must be done. He needs to be stopped, and only you, Gabriel, can destroy him," and she reached out and pressed her two fingers against his werewolf bite, which she shouldn't have known about, but she did all the same.

"It's in your blood," she said, hoping he would get the hint.

Naturally, he didn't and she decided not to push it. She'd have time to shove all the answers into his face later. But in the meantime, she had a score to settle with a certain backstabbing vampire.

She had shed enough tears on his behalf.

Hera would have her revenge… even if it killed her.

"So you'll tell us where Castle Dracula is?" Anna asked.

Hera's expression turned hard and cold.

"Oh, I'll do better than that," she replied. "I'll show you."

* * *

The next few days grew darker and colder as the carriage made its way through the Transylvanian countryside, winding down forest paths and over the untamed Carpathian Mountains. The sky was always overcast, as if even the earth itself was aware of what was to transpire.

Locks of Hera's hair hung idly in her face as she stared intently at the passing landscape. She sensed the friar's gaze upon her, but said nothing.

She hardly ate.

She rarely slept.

All she could do was stare at the thick, ominous forest with despair.

Dracula was all over these woods – his presence, his mark. He ruled these lands, had for centuries and try as she might, Hera was incapable of thinking about anything else. Every time she closed her eyes she saw him—the memory Jane had given her after she passed away.

The things he had said, the way he had touched Aleera, the truth and conviction in his voice. It stung bitterly, more so than any other betrayal she had experienced before. She had given her soul to him, and in return for her love and devotion, he lied to her.

He used her.

And as far as she knew, he had left her to die.

If it hadn't been for Van Helsing, she still would have been in the Vilkova Palace, unconscious and alone, left under his spell until he would return to retrieve the bastard child in her womb.

Hera's heart shattered to pieces at the thought of the Count holding some demon infant in his arms as his final bride closed in, fangs barred, claws ready. She brushed a stray tear roughly from her cheek as she continued to stare out the window.

"Hera?"

The woman never turned her head to acknowledge Carl's call. She only continued to stare bitterly in front of her.

"Hera, are you sure you're going to be alright?"

"I'm fine, Carl," Hera answered stoically.

"You should eat something," he insisted. "Or at least try and get some rest. You've hardly slept since…"

"I _don't_ need your sympathies, monk! Just leave me alone!" Hera snapped icily at him, her outburst taking him by surprise.

"Friar," he corrected under his breath after a moment, breaking the tense silence.

Hera rolled her eyes and hugged her arms more fiercely around her body, trying to ward off the cold.

Lucky Anna was out steering the carriage with Van Helsing, which left Carl to sit with the hormonal pregnant woman who had a short fuse and a melancholy droop in her eyes. He sighed heavily as he leaned back into his seat, his attention diverting to Hera after a moment or two of silence.

"It's not your fault, you know," he tried again delicately, noticing how her face softened up, more tears burning in her eyes.

Her stomach, since they had left, had seemed to double in size every day. She looked to be about seven or eight months pregnant now, and if Carl's mathematics proved correct, they had maybe two days left before she would deliver.

"Yes it is," Hera finally answered, a miserable tear tumbling down her cheek.

She was exhausted, physically and emotionally – and now more than ever did she look it.

The woman wanted nothing more than to lay down and die.

"You had no idea, Hera," he said, cautiously reaching out and touching her hand. Her skin felt like ice. "Count Dracula is known for his abilities. He's a con artist, a womanizer. His father, Lucifer, is the father of lies! You couldn't possibly have known."

"But I _did_ know, Carl," she insisted pathetically. "I knew and I let him… and because of him, Velkan… oh God, what have I done?" and she covered her mouth with her slender hand in an effort to muffle the sob as her tears came on once more.

Carl, panged by the grief-stricken woman, moved over to her side of the carriage, taking a seat beside her so he could wrap an arm over her shoulders and hold her close as she cried.

"It was meant to happen," he whispered. "Was it not?"

"But I'm the reason for it," she insisted. "It would have been different if I hadn't been the reason."

"Shh," he consoled, rubbing her back as she wept into his shoulder. "It's alright, Hera. It's alright."

Eventually, Hera's tears ceased and after a good twenty minutes of silence, the carriage pulled to a stop. Van Helsing opened the coach door and Hera could see Castle Frankenstein behind him.

"We're here," he announced, his face relaxing when he saw the look in Hera's eyes. "Are you sure you're all right?" he inquired with sincerity.

He had been rather cold to Hera since they had left the Vilkova palace, but after listening to her cry for the past few days, the way in which she clearly suffered, how she tormented herself; Van Helsing may have been a seasoned warrior, but he was not heartless.

The woman nodded timidly in answer to his question.

"It's almost over, Hera."

He offered his hand to help her out, but she never took it.

"He's not in there, Gabriel," she said.

The hunter cocked a brow.

"What do you mean? I know he is… this is where the laboratory is. We destroy that first, and we'll have bought us some time. Come on, I know you want to let your anger out," he teased, but Hera's face remained stern.

"He's not in there. They moved the laboratory to Castle Dracula."

"How would you know?" Anna chimed in, appearing behind the hunter.

"Because I heard him tell Verona to, and I _know_."

Van Helsing would have argued with the latter, but the former he seemed to believe.

"So what do we do? Shouldn't we at least check?" he inquired.

"Take my word for it. He's not there."

With some struggle and some humbling on his part, the hunter nodded his head and sighed in defeat.

"So what do we do?" Anna asked. "My ancestors have been looking for Castle Dracula for over four centuries! Where do we look? We're rapidly running out of daylight too, in case you haven't noticed."

Hera winced when she felt the life inside her kick against her womb as if it knew what she was thinking. She rubbed her stomach in an effort to soothe the growing creature inside of her and it worked for the time being.

"We need to head back home, Anna," Hera explained.

"No! We need to know where to look now!" Anna insisted.

"We're running out of time, Hera. _You're_ running out of time," Van Helsing added.

"Just trust me, alright?!" the young woman suddenly screamed at him. Hera's eyes grew a shade or two darker, the honey turning into a milk chocolate brown as all the life vanished from her face, making her look almost ghost white, her eyes filled with an uncharacteristic rage. "I know what I'm talking about, Van Helsing! Stop questioning me and do as I say!"

Everyone took a step back during her outburst and the wind seemed to howl in response to her fury.

The life within her started to kick wildly as well, which in turn knocked Hera back into reality. She held her protruding stomach, her deep, calming breaths soothing the creature inside of her. Her eyes gradually melted back to their natural shade, a light flush returning to her cheeks as hot tears streamed down them.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, a flash of humiliation etched across her features. "I didn't mean to…" but she trailed off and stared at her stomach, guilt and pain welling in her eyes.

The hunter sighed.

"It's Dracula, isn't it?"

She nodded timidly.

"I can feel him inside of me," she answered timidly. "His rage, his anger and impatience. I think a part of him senses how close we are."

"What do we do, Hera?" Van Helsing inquired.

The woman took a deep breath before responding.

"The armory… in the Valerious manor. We need to go there."

"But…" Anna began, however the Roman silenced her with a look.

"If Hera says to go to the armory, we go to the armory."

Anna looked between the two of them for a moment before muttering an oath as she climbed onto the front of the carriage. Van Helsing soon joined her, steering the horses back to Visceria.

They reached the Valerious manor some time later, and after some difficulty making her way about the memory-filled halls which haunted her every step, the visibly pregnant Hera stopped to stand purposefully in front of the map of Transylvania. The trio lingered behind her, watching closely, waiting for her to do or say something. But Hera just continued to stand there, staring intently at the map.

Anna was the first to vocalize her impatience.

"Why are we here?"

Hera never answered the question. She simply turned to Carl, one hand on her stomach, the other pressed against her aching lower back. She looked exhausted.

"Carl. Tell them what you've learned," she said with mildness.

The friar looked around for a second to see if she was truly addressing him.

"Me?" When she acknowledged him, he cleared his throat. "Alright. Well, let me think for a moment…"

" _Carl._ "

"Right, sorry. Well, Count Dracula was actually the _son_ of Valerious the Elder," he began, glancing over at Anna. "The son of your ancestor."

Anna merely shrugged, folding her arms over her chest in an impatient manner.

"Everybody knows that. What else?"

"Oh, uh, right. Well, it started in 1462, when Dracula was murdered," he began.

"Did you figure out who murdered him?" Van Helsing asked, recalling how the Count had mentioned that they had known each other in the past.

"No, just some vague reference to the Left Hand of God," Carl replied, brushing the hunter's question aside. "Anyways, according to a text I found upstairs in the archives, when Dracula died, he made a covenant with the Devil."

"And was given new life," Van Helsing guessed aloud.

"But the only way to sustain that life was by drinking the blood of others," Anna pointed out. Carl rolled his eyes in annoyance at the interruption.

"Are you two going to let _me_ tell the story?"

"Sorry," they answered in unison, none of them noticing the faraway look in Hera's eyes as she continued to stare at the map in front of her, inaudibly muttering the Latin inscription to herself as Carl continued.

"Your ancestor, having sired this evil creature, went to Rome to seek forgiveness from God, and that's when the bargain was made," Carl continued. "Valerious the Elder was to kill Dracula in return for the eternal salvation of his entire family, right down the line, all the way to you," he said, looking at Anna.

"But he couldn't do it," she replied. "As evil as Dracula was, my ancestor couldn't just kill his own son."

"So he banished Dracula to an icy fortress, sending him through a door from which there was no return."

"And then the Devil gave him wings," Hera interrupted impatiently. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, so we all know the story now. Come on you guys! The rest is SO obvious!"

"So where's the door?" the hunter inquired.

Hera's palm met her face with a nice smack and she shook her head.

"Come on Gabriel, I know you're not this stupid," she encouraged.

The Roman glanced over at Carl for some help.

"Well, when the old knight couldn't kill his own son, he left clues so that future generations might do it for him," he suggested.

Anna chimed in.

"That was probably what my father was looking for up in the archives: clues to the door's location."

Hera was staring intently at the hunter, seeing the wheels in his head turn and a small smile crept up onto her face when his eyes widened in recognition.

"The door…" He glanced over at Hera, seeing the smile on her face and he knew immediately he was on to something. "It's in here, isn't it?" Hera nodded excitedly. He pointed at the map. "Anna's father spent hours staring at this painting, trying to find Dracula's lair. _This_ must be the door! He just didn't know how to open it! Am I right?"

Hera had to keep herself from holding her breath.

"And the Latin inscription?" she cued, running her fingers over the painted words, still looking at the hunter. "A piece is missing, Gabriel… a piece to the past…"

"A piece to the past? What does that mean?" Anna inquired.

Van Helsing shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling around for that torn piece of painted cloth that the cardinal had given him before he had left Rome. When he found it, he pulled it out into the open and handed it to Hera, who then handed it to Carl, motioning for him to place it in the torn corner on the wall, reading the words aloud.

"' _Deum lacessat ac inaum imbeat aperiri._ '"

"In the name of God, open this fucking door," Hera muttered, only to receive a curious look from the friar.

"I'm fairly certain that expletive isn't in the original text," he teased, earning a very small smile from the woman.

She would have replied, but they were soon all too busy watching as the painting began to change, starting at the edges and spreading inward. A thick crystal frost washed over the entire image, devouring it until the map disappeared completely. Then the icy exterior began to shimmer and transform until a few seconds later they were all staring at a large, ancient mirror that had somehow replaced the map.

"A mirror?" Carl wondered aloud.

"Dracula has no reflection in a mirror," Anna replied, remembering that incident at the ball in Budapest.

"But why?" Van Helsing asked.

Hera decided to speak up finally.

"Why does he have no reflection in a mirror? Why is he immune to the usual methods that could end his kind? Why does he have a cure for the curse of the werewolf? Come on, Van Helsing," and she snapped her fingers impatiently. "Think! To Dracula, a mirror isn't a mirror at all," she explained. "It's a passageway… a portal. A door from which he could not return."

Hera showed him her fist and then went to punch the mirror. The company all flinched in fear, assuming she was about to literally shatter their only means of finding Dracula when they all watched in astonishment as her arm and hand suddenly went straight through the glass… only it wasn't glass at all. She then turned to the hunter and offered her hand.

"Come and see."

Van Helsing cautiously took Hera's hand, deciding to trust the woman and he allowed her to lead him through the mirror. When they reached the other side, he opened his eyes and gasped to find…

"Castle Dracula," he breathed in awe, staring up at the huge medieval fortress that seemed to have been carved straight out of the black rock that made up the icy mountainous landscape around them.

Anna and Carl soon joined them and they all took in the scene for a moment or two.

While the trio just basked in the monstrous size of the place, Hera moved forward, noticing how the sun appeared to have long-since vanished behind the mountains. The atmosphere, that darkness she had once found so enticing, seemed to frighten her now. Or maybe it just broke her heart knowing that it was here he had taken advantage of her completely.

Hera swallowed hard and rubbed her belly, feeling the creature within her kick and squirm as if it knew its father was near. A strong hand rested on her shoulder and the woman turned to see Van Helsing.

"Are you sure you want to be here?" he asked her gently. She nodded, her tears freezing up before they could even leak from her eyes.

"I need to watch him die," she whispered firmly.

The hunter squeezed her shoulder.

"Well, we still have to figure out how to do that."

"It's you, Gabriel," she replied immediately. "Don't you see?"

He sent her a look.

"What?"

"Dracula has a cure for the curse of the werewolf, Van Helsing. Come on… think about it. Why would he have a cure? Why would he even need a cure?"

Anna and Carl moved in to stand behind them, listening to the conversation.

"Because the only thing that can kill him… is a werewolf," Van Helsing whispered.

He turned and looked over at the friar, suddenly getting it.

"The painting. In the archives… that's what it meant!" Carl exclaimed. "Of course! The battle between the two great knights who became a vampire and a werewolf!"

Hera rolled her eyes, a small curve appearing on her lips.

"Damn, you three are slow."

"But there's still a problem with that theory," Anna replied. "Dracula has been using werewolves to do his bidding for centuries."

"Ah, yes, but it's like all the great stories in history, Anna," Hera explained. "Two groups of people fighting and one takes the other as prisoner. All dictators and corrupted leaders fear a rebellion or uprising of the people and werewolves have fewer weaknesses than vampires do. If a werewolf ever had the will to turn on Dracula, to threaten his spot at the top of the food chain, he would need a cure to make it human before it bit him," Hera quickly explained.

"And you _knew_ this the entire time?" Anna nearly shouted.

"Well it's not _my_ fault you three are so dense you couldn't figure it out sooner!" she defended. "The answer has been right there in front of your freaking face for centuries! If you weren't so busy using methods that you already knew didn't work, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now!"

The gypsy princess snapped her mouth shut, but didn't fail to send Hera a disapproving look.

"This isn't my fault," Anna insisted.

"Did I say it was?"

"Alright ladies… break it up," Van Helsing replied, pushing the two apart as the snow began to fall. "We can fight later. Right now, we need a plan."

"I vote that we get inside first!" Carl chattered, the icy wind riding up his robes. With an annoyed sigh, Van Helsing went to grab the friar and the princess, when Hera stopped him.

"We could use the door," she pointed out.

"What door?"

Hera started to make her way over to the hidden door off to the side that she had used when she had left this place the first time. Van Helsing and the others followed after her and within moments, they were inside the main foyer.

Before they could have a proper moment to appreciate the enormity of the room, they spotted Igor just a few yards away. The sickly looking man appeared around the corner with a bundle of wires and electrodes. He skidded to a stop, appearing stunned when he saw them.

"How…? How did you…? It's impossible!" he gasped, until he noticed Hera. "You _told_ them? How could you? But you're supposed to be in Budapest! _Unconscious!_ "

Van Helsing quickly ripped out one of his circular saw blades and threw it, the weapon whistling through the air and catching Igor by his sleeve, pinning him the nearest wall.

"Please! Don't kill me!" Igor begged as Van Helsing approached.

"Why?" the hunter sneered.

"Well, um, I…"

But Hera interjected.

"Just kill him. You can't trust him. We need to find the antidote before Dracula wakes up." Suddenly, the sound of a monstrous growl rang out in the air and Hera sighed. "Never mind, we're too late for that one."

"What do we do now?" Anna asked.

"We need to get the antidote," Carl replied, "that way when the bell begins to toll midnight, Van Helsing will be able to kill Dracula. We'll just have to find the cure and get it into him before the final stroke."

"Are you insane?" Anna asked him.

"I know where the antidote is!" Igor chimed in. "If you don't kill Igor, he can take you to it."

"If you trust that liar, it will only prove how utterly stupid you are," Hera insisted, looking directly at the hunter.

"But I need you to help me find Dracula," he explained. " _He_ can show them where it is."

Hera, in response, pulled the gun out of Van Helsing's jacket and smacked the butt of the weapon against Igor's head, effectively knocking him out.

The uncharacteristic act of violence took _everyone_ by surprise.

"I don't like that plan," she replied with a dangerous edge in her voice, but then she lurched forward suddenly and grabbed her stomach when the child within started to kick. She doubled over onto her knees, face contorted in pain.

"Hera, what is it?" Anna asked, falling to her knees beside her. Hera's breathing started to labor and little beads of sweat dotted her brow.

"I'm fine," she whispered breathlessly. "I'm fine. We need to hurry. I don't think I can last another minute with this _thing_ inside of me." Anna nodded firmly and helped Hera to her feet. The woman glanced over at the hunter. "The black tower, the one on the right side, that's where the antidote is. And those stairs on the left… that's the Devil's Tower, where they reassembled the laboratory."

"How do you know?" he asked.

"I lived here for seven months, remember? Just _trust_ me."

Van Helsing had a moment of hesitation, but at last, he nodded his head.

"Alright. Here's the plan. Anna, Carl, you two go with Hera to get the antidote. If I'm not cured by the twelfth stroke of midnight…" and he took a silver stake from his cloak and handed it out to Carl whose eyes widened.

"I don't think I could," the friar whispered, shaking his head.

"You must," the hunter pressed urgently.

Carl hesitated, but Hera just reached out and grabbed the stake.

"We'll make it in time," she promised. "If you won't kill Igor now, you'll need to restrain him so he doesn't get in the way. Once that's done, go find Dracula. Now hurry, and try not to get spotted. And whatever you do, _don't_ let Dracula know I'm here. It'll only make things more dangerous for all of us."

Van Helsing nodded and watched as Carl took Hera's arm and wrapped it around his shoulders so he could help her move away, leaving Anna and Van Helsing alone for a moment. When Hera and the friar were a safe enough distance away, she glanced behind her for a second to see the two kissing passionately, and though she was happy for her friend, the young woman's smile was filled with tears.

If there was one thing Hera wanted to accomplish this night, it was to make sure Anna survived.

She deserved as much.

But part of her couldn't help but envy the gypsy princess… she had love. _Real_ love.

Oh, if only she had been as lucky. Hera's smile faded as Carl continued to lead her towards the east wing, a flushed Anna following close behind.

* * *

Dracula watched as the Dwergi put the finishing touches on Victor Frankenstein's equipment. The Frankenstein monster was not merely bolted, but welded into a metal pod and screaming angrily.

The vampire strode over, hissing, "What are you complaining about?" The entire laboratory around him sparked to life, great arcs of electricity shooting up and down the walls between the dynamos. The gears kicked in and fan belts snapped taut and began to run.

"This is why you were made – to prove that _God_ is not the only one who can create life!" the vampire shouted sadistically. "And now you will give life to my children…" and he raised his hands in the air, watching as the monster was lifted up and off the ground.

No longer interested in the protests of the creature, the Count turned on his heel and began to stalk through the laboratory, making sure everything was in place and in working order.

 _At last! Everything is finally going according to plan,_ he thought to himself with a triumphant smile. _The monster is mine, my children will soon live, and from the ashes of this old world will rise one fashioned by my will and my own image._

The Count's smile soon faded however as he stopped in front of a familiar piece of furniture —Victor's laboratory desk. A twinge of pain flashed across the vampire's features.

For a brief instant, Dracula could have sworn he saw Hera sitting at that table, reading the late doctor's notes only to pause and glance up at him, a smile on her face. The vision vanished as quickly as it came, but the sheer memory of the woman's eyes seemed to leave a mark on him as his guilt sent him looking away in shame.

What a fool he had been – leaving Hera in Budapest with merely Jane to look after her until he could return.

Initially, Dracula had believed that keeping Hera unconscious and therefore ignorant of her condition would help to keep her safe and in better health so when the time would come to deliver the creature growing within her, she'd be able to withstand the experience. But even though he knew his beloved was in safe and capable hands, he could not ignore the relentless knotting in his stomach as he wandered about the laboratory.

On the surface he appeared disinterested with the world around him – but inside, he was torn in a debilitating conflict.

Obtaining the monster had been a massive triumph for the Count. Not only could he now bring his undead children to life, but as soon as Hera gave birth, their child would then take those thousands of vampire young and turn them into the fiercest army, the likes of which the world had never seen. No soul on earth, nor in heaven, would then dare to come against Count Dracula and what he held dear….

And yet, even with the promise of success so near, that underlying sense of anxiety persisted.

Something was amiss, he could sense it like the electricity that was now fizzling through the air as the great machine of an age hummed with life around him.

Dracula suspected that he would be much more at ease if Hera were here beside him right now, but that was not to be. So long as he stayed on schedule, he knew he would be able to make it in time to help her deliver tomorrow night, perhaps even turn her if the need ever arose, but the distance between him and his beloved was far more excruciating than he had anticipated.

 _Everything will be alright_ , that voice in the back of his head assured him with half-hearted conviction. _You owe it to your brides and to yourself to bring your young to life. As soon as the task is complete, you can return to Budapest, and with Hera at your side as your queen, you will at last have everything you have ever wanted, everything you have worked so hard to obtain._

Oh, what wishful thinking that was, this wondrous fantasy the developing romantic in him insisted on carrying about – of Hera as his dark vampire queen and an invincible army at his side. Although the dream appealed to him greatly, experience had taught him to be cautious with his new-found hope, and Aleera resting her hand on his shoulder from behind reminded him of that.

He was perfectly aware that his only surviving bride would not take kindly to being "replaced." She had been vying for his undivided attention since the fateful night he had sired her, and her insistence had only grown with time. He had invited the woman to accompany him because this had been her dream as well – the life of their young. Dracula only hoped that his gift to her would be enough to ease the pain when he finally released her from her obligation to him.

But one tangled mess at a time, he reminded himself.

Dracula's lack of response to Aleera's hand on his shoulder left the bride a tad perturbed, so she nuzzled closer to him, wrapping herself around his arm as she looked up at him with her doe-like eyes.

"Master," she purred suggestively, but the less-than-subtle implications in her tone visibly repulsed the Count and he shrugged her away rather abruptly.

"I'm busy," he insisted, hoping she'd take the hint and leave him be, but Aleera had always been persistent by nature and now was no exception. She followed after him.

"But sire…" she started, ready to give one of her rehearsed, self-pitying speeches, but Dracula whirled around and growled impatiently at her in warning.

Aleera cowered back in fear and the tears came almost as if out of habit. Usually they worked in softening his demeanor, but Dracula wasn't in the mood, not when her very presence served as a stark reminder of his many mistakes.

"Get out of my sight until I call for you," he commanded and without a word, Aleera exited from the room spitefully, her fake tears vanishing the second she left.

Her hurt expression was quickly replaced with a sour pout. She knew why her master wanted nothing to do with her and the reason made her disposition foul.

"Stupid mortal _whore_ ," she hissed under her breath, marching down the hall before reaching a flight of stairs. She was about to disappear down a particular corridor, but something caught her attention and she stopped mid-step.

Was that a heartbeat she had heard?

No… four… wait… _five_ heartbeats, and two of them she recognized, the other three she could only guess.

One of them certainly belonged to Anna.

And she supposed two belonged to that hunter, Van Helsing, and the stupid monk, Carl.

But the other two…

A malicious smile curved Aleera's lips as she giggled wickedly to herself.

Hera was here, and the master didn't know; and what the master didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

It was almost too perfect and as Aleera took to flight, she swore to herself that her master would never get to _know_ Miss Hera Garret ever again.


	50. Retribution, the Villain, & - Part 2

**WARNING: There is some material near the end of this chapter which may be difficult for my more sensitive readers to digest. If you find that the mentioned content offends or upsets you, and you'd like to tell me as much, please do so in a calm and respectful manner - that is all I ask. The event I'm referring to** (which will reveal itself shortly) **was part of the original version and because it plays an integral part in the future of this story, I could not cut it out. I respect that the issue this event will shed light on is a controversial one and there are a number of opinions on the subject. If you would like to have an intelligent conversation in the review section, be my guest, but PLEASE BE KIND TO EACH OTHER and to me.**

* * *

 **L**

 _ **Retribution, the Villain, & Self-Sacrifice**_

 _ **Part II**_

Hera had broken out into a cold sweat as the contractions continued. They were occurring every five to ten minutes by now, usually lasting for about two minutes before dissipating. She suspected that the life inside of her knew of her motives and for the sake of survival, probably wanted out early. It took both Carl and Anna to hold Hera up, to keep her walking.

At last, after what felt like millions of stairs and an eternity of labyrinth hallways, they found it: the room where the cure was kept.

"There it is," Hera panted, pointing up ahead. "The antidote."

Anna sighed in relief and glanced over at Carl.

"How are we doing on time?"

"Pretty good," he replied, glancing at the pocket watch in his robes. He had snatched it off of one of the vampire carcasses back at the Vilkova Palace. "We still need to hurry though. We have to get this to Van Helsing by midnight. I'm not sure how fast this watch is, so to be on the safe side, I'd say we have maybe twenty minutes."

Anna nodded resolutely.

"Alright. Let's get it."

The two helped Hera into the room and placed her down in a corner before moving over to the antidote which was situated in a jar of god knew what. Hera watched as the two glanced at the container curiously, debating on who would grab it first.

But something was off… Hera could taste it in the air.

Her weary eyes scanned the room carefully, looking up at the walls and ceiling when she noticed… _pink_.

She opened her mouth to warn the others, but it would appear Anna had noticed it as well. As Carl jumped in fear, Anna moved quickly, jerking him back behind the jar as Aleera dropped to the floor with a smile.

"Did I scare you?" the redheaded bride purred.

Clearly terrified, Carl replied:

"No."

"Then maybe I need to try a little harder," the vampire stated, advancing.

In a moment of quick thinking, Anna shoved the jar off the pedestal and into Aleera's direction. She and Carl stepped back in unison and watched as the glass crashed and then shattered at Aleera's feet, splattering the viscous liquid within all over the bride. The vampire shrieked in pain as the acid ate and burned her flesh.

"Grab the antidote!" Hera shouted to Anna, who immediately ran towards the syringe.

Aleera, recognizing Hera's voice, whirled around and glared at the human, her melting face slowly repairing itself, though the ghastly sight would easily fuel Hera's nightmares for the next few months. The young woman pushed herself to her feet, adrenaline giving her enough strength to do so, and she pointed frantically at the exit.

"Run! Get to Van Helsing! Quick!"

"What about you?" Anna shouted, helping Carl to his feet, since he had slipped on an icy patch on the floor.

"Just get out of here! Don't worry about me. Go! Go! Go!"

Anna grabbed some of the broken glass and scooped up the viscous fluid so she could throw it at Aleera in an effort to buy Hera some time. The bride howled as the acid began to eat away at her again, giving Hera enough of a chance to bolt for the door and after the others.

Only problem was, she wasn't fast enough.

Aleera saw it coming and took a nice clean swipe at the human, sending her into a wall before the pregnant woman fell to a heap on the ground.

Anna, standing in the hall, turned back to see Hera on the floor, trapped in the room with a vengeful Aleera. Making up her mind, she handed the syringe to Carl and pointed to the corridor.

"Go! We'll catch up!"

"But…"

"Now, Carl!"

The friar obeyed and disappeared down the corridor just as Anna turned to find Aleera towering over Hera, nothing but promised torture in her eyes.

"Hello, Hera," the vampire purred viciously, watching with satisfaction as blood ran down the side of the mortal's face, thanks to the nice knock to the head she had received.

"Go to hell, you fucking _bitch_ ," Hera bit nastily.

"Been there, done that," came the bemused response.

Aleera was so busy focusing on Hera, she didn't even realize that Anna was silently moving in behind her. The vampire bent down and took Hera by the throat, lifting her up to her feet and cutting off her air supply in the process.

"I could never understand what they saw in you," the bride hissed, raising Hera up with inhuman strength. "Why Verona always stood up for you, why Marishka enjoyed your company… why my master has been so _captivated_ with you," and her face contorted in disgust. "Pity that he just used you. Did you know that, _little spitfire_?"

"Yes," she wheezed, gasping for air. "I did."

That wasn't the answer Aleera had wanted to hear. She had been hoping for a look of shock, tears of disbelief, but Hera gave her no such prize. It didn't matter, however. The last surviving bride of Count Dracula shrugged and lustfully licked the blood from Hera's face, much to the mortal's disgust.

"I can't wait to suck every last drop from you," she purred sensuously and Hera watched with resignation as the vampire's fangs lengthened.

Aleera was about to end it when she suddenly dropped the human to the floor and let out an ear-piercing scream. Hera looked up to see the end of a silver stake sticking right through the center of the bride's chest between her breasts, its point covered with thick, black blood. Within a moment, her body erupted into gore and ash and standing in her place was Anna, the other end of the stake still clenched in her hand.

The princess looked a little shaken, but otherwise alright and Hera smiled in relief at the sight of her.

"Oh thank god for you, Anna Valerious!" Hera exclaimed. "Please tell me that felt good. It looked like it did."

Anna chuckled.

"It did. I've been wanting to do that since I learned what she had done to my mother."

The princess placed the weapon on her belt and offered a hand to Hera, who took it, allowing the gypsy to help her up.

"One down, one to go then?" Hera managed through gritted teeth, her back aching from Aleera's senseless violence.

"Hopefully Mr. Van Helsing in the process of taking care of that."

"Mister? Anna, you and I both know you two have passed the point of requiring that level of formality," she said with a wry grin, despite the pain she was in and Anna blushed.

"Come on…. we need to catch up with Carl."

Hera nodded and followed the princess out of the room and into the hall. It was evident that Anna wished to run, but after a while, Hera had to grip the wall in order to keep herself upright, her head spinning and muscles sore from the load she bore.

She would have preferred to sit down to take a breather, but the screeching of Dracula's children, informed her that they were short on time. _Too_ short on time.

If Dracula's young had already been brought to life, then that meant they had a handful of minutes, maybe less until the clock would strike midnight—until Van Helsing, monster hunter extraordinaire, would become the hunted and the one thing that could save them all from this nightmare.

Anna Valerious was soon holding Hera upright with the woman's arm wrapped around her shoulders, the princess nearly dragging her down the labyrinth of halls, desperately trying to get to Van Helsing before it was too late, before…

BONG!

The two women skidded to a halt at the far end of the foyer and stared at each other in horror when they realized –

"It's midnight," Hera breathed, her heart pounding wildly in her chest from their previous exertions.

"Come on!" Anna urged, dragging Hera along again towards the stairs that the hunter had climbed when they had seen him last, until Hera pulled Anna to a stop.

"NO! I know a faster way… over here!" and she yanked the princess into another direction towards a pulley system hidden in the shadows.

Living here for seven months certainly had its advantages.

Hera threw the small gate open as the clock continued to strike the hour and she shoved Anna inside and then herself, and soon they were flying up several stories.

Anna held onto Hera who had then fallen to her knees as the creature within her started to demand a premature exit and the mortal doubled over as she howled in pain.

"Hera!"

Tears streamed down the woman's cheeks and she clutched her womb as she cried out, a cold sweat breaking out over her body.

"Anna… I… I don't think I'm going to make… AHH!" and she cried out loudly, digging her nails into the floor of the elevator that just wasn't going fast enough.

The contractions were unlike anything she had ever experienced.

It felt like the child—no—the _monster_ inside of her was clawing at her insides, demanding out, as if it _knew_ what its mother was planning to do. Hera gripped the railing of the pulley and let out a scream as her eyes turned a demonic black, her blood rushing wildly through her veins as she bawled in her head for the demon offspring to cease.

Miraculously enough, it worked, but only for the time being.

When the life inside of her calmed, Hera collapsed in Anna's arms and wept quietly, exhausted and in a world of untold pain. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as small droplets of blood mingled with the sweat of her brow. Anna gently cradled the woman in her arms as the clock finished striking the hour.

Eventually, the pulley stopped and the women turned to find themselves lost in a sea of chaos and fire.

Dwergi were racing out of the room in an effort to save themselves.

The machines hissed and sparked as the flames licked at their bases, burning up the leaking oil and inciting several explosions.

In the midst of it all, Hera immediately felt Dracula's presence… it was overwhelming, like a thick, heavy blanket had been laid on top of her, the pressure immense, and the feelings it created within her—a myriad of conflicting emotions: fear, anger, hurt, betrayal, lust, desire—but even more so, she felt an undeniable thirst for revenge.

Something inside of Hera changed as Anna helped her to her feet.

She felt adrenaline surge in her veins as she and the last Valerious made their way into the center of the confusion, the waking nightmare. Anna noticed Carl a few feet away, antidote in hand, and she motioned for him to come over.

"Give me the antidote Carl!" she called. "Hurry! Throw it!"

Carl did as he was told and tossed the antidote into the air. Anna reached out to catch it, but something dark in Hera clicked on and she extended her hand, intercepting it. The gypsy princess sent her a look.

"Hera, what are you…" but she trailed off when she saw the look in the woman's eyes. Hera placed the cure in the princess' hand, expression grave.

"When I give you the signal, I need you to get behind Van Helsing."

"What?"

"Just trust me, Anna. I'm trying to save your life."

Anna was about to protest when a loud crash caught all of their attention as they turned to see Dracula and Van Helsing, both in beast forms, fighting to the death.

The princess grew distracted and she looked on with baited breath as she observed the monster that Van Helsing had become. The rage in his eyes was terrifying to behold, the power that seemed to radiate off of him in waves was breathtaking—almost as much as the Count in hell-beast form. But the battle between the old rivals was to reach its peak, and they all realized this when the wolf grabbed the hellish bat by the throat and sank his claws into his flesh.

Very close now.

Van Helsing felt the power of the moon and soon he would have his victory.

"He's going to win," Anna whispered in awe.

Hera said nothing.

This battle wasn't over yet.

And as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she noticed how the wolf's strength began to fade as the clouds covered the moon overhead.

Van Helsing then found himself with his hand wrapped around the bat creature's throat. The wolf was no more and he was just a man again. Anna panicked, enthralled with the suspense of the battle, but Hera, unmoved by the tension, turned to Carl who had managed to get over to them.

"Give me the silver stake," she whispered harshly.

The friar sent her a bewildered expression.

"Why?"

"I swear to God, I will slap the next person who questions me…"

"Did I mention that it was you who murdered me?" Dracula taunted as Van Helsing ran, creating some distance between himself and the vampire, both men unaware that they had an audience.

Carl had looked up at the vampire when he had spoken, but when Hera thrust her open palm into his face, he was forced to pull his attention away from the battle.

"Carl! Focus!" she demanded. "I need the silver stake."

"But… what happens if we can't get the antidote to Van Helsing in time? What if he kills you?!"

"Oh for the love of…." The young woman abruptly shoved her hand into Carl's robe, the friar jumping and then squealing in surprise.

"Ah! What are you…"

As soon as Hera had the weapon in her hand, she held it between her thighs so she could pull her wet hair back and out of her face. When she was situated, she grabbed hold of the stake with a look of fierce resolution before proceeding to march out of the shadows and towards the men in the center of the room.

Anna called out for her softly.

"Hera, what the hell are you doing? Get back here!" she hissed. But the mortal ignored her. She just kept her eyes locked on the Count. The gypsy princess turned to the friar, panicked. "What is she doing? She's going to get herself killed!"

"I think she's going to distract them."

"But she could get hurt!"

Carl stared after Hera, his countenance shifting when it dawned on him.

"I think she means to sacrifice herself."

Anna's eyes widened.

"What?"

"She's going to help kill Dracula…"

"Well, I figured that when she gave me the antidote and told me to get behind Van Helsing when she makes the signal… whatever that happens to be," Anna shot.

But Carl just shook his head.

"No, Anna," he whispered, looking over at her. "She doesn't need a silver state to distract Dracula."

"Then why would she take it?"

"She's going to kill herself."

"Don't be insane! Why would she do that?"

"Dracula's child," was all the friar said and as if she had been struck by a bolt of lightning, suddenly everything made sense to Anna. "The fate of mankind rests not on the death of Dracula, but on the creature inside of her…. If it lives, we are all doomed. It's the only way."

Anna's eyes returned to Hera as the wheels in her head continued to turn.

The Count had used Hera, and in an effort to ensure Van Helsing's victory and to keep Anna and Carl out of the cross-fire, Hera would use herself to distract the vampire, giving the hunter the perfect opportunity to kill him while he was vulnerable.

But because there was only one way to make sure the demon's offspring would be destroyed, once Dracula was dead, she'd have to…

Anna couldn't bear to finish the thought and tears burned in her eyes.

"No…" the princess whispered. "No, Carl… there has to be another way."

"There is no other way," the friar said solemnly.

Meanwhile, Hera continued to walk resolutely toward the hunter and the vampire who were still conversing. Her eyes were consumed in unreserved hatred, a bitter, unforgiving frigidity, even with the tears brimming at her lower lash line.

This had to end.

It had to end _now_.

"All I want is life, Gabriel," Dracula continued. "The continuation of my kind. And perhaps the return of my ring," and he held up his hand.

Van Helsing looked down at his own, the one which bore the ring with the Count's insignia on it. He wanted to know the truth, and Dracula seemed to be the only one who could tell him.

"Don't be afraid, Gabriel. Don't be afraid," the vampire said darkly. "I will give you back your life. Your memory."

"He'll get them back, but you won't be the one to restore them, Vladislaus," Hera called out, interrupting the dialogue. Both men turned to face her and Dracula's eyes widened considerably, the malevolence that had contorted his features just moments ago instantly melting away.

Hera?

What was she doing here?

For the first time in his life, the vampire was rendered utterly speechless.

"Hello, Vlad," she said gently, her face drained of any readable emotion.

 _I'll take it by the shocked look on your face that you're surprised to see me_ , she communicated through his mind.

 _Hera, what are you doing here?_ the vampire asked, sounding horrifically concerned. Naturally, she assumed it was all a façade.

 _Well, I'm not rendered unconscious in Budapest all by myself, if that's what you were wondering,_ she bit icily.

The vampire attempted a charming smile for the sake of their audience, but it began to fade when he took note of the tears that stained her cheeks.

"Miss Garret," he answered cordially, placing his hands behind his back, trying his best to stay in character. "You're supposed to be in Budapest with Jane, my dear," he added charmingly. Although on the surface she was all calm and cordial smiles, inside she was screaming in his head.

 _Hera, what's wrong?_

 _You mean besides me being miraculously pregnant with your child?_

 _I can explain that._

 _Oh I'm sure you have a nice, convoluted story, but my list of reasons for hating you is so long right now and this demon inside of me is just the tip of the iceberg, you son of a bitch!_

 _Your list of reasons? I don't understand._

He watched in concern and confusion as angry tears started to burn in her eyes.

He couldn't seem to grasp why else she would be so upset with him outside of her surprise conception. Was she really so cross that he had left her in Budapest? But he was going to go back to her. He had every intention of doing so, as soon as he was done here. What lies had Van Helsing filled her head with?

 _You don't understand?_ she repeated. _Stop toying with me, Dracula! It's not funny anymore! The game is over, give it up already!_

 _Hera, truly, I can't imagine what else you'd be referring to. Where's Jane? She's supposed to be with you._

 _She's dead._

 _What? What happened?_

"You mean all alone in the Vilkova palace?" she inquired for the sake of those around them, "Alone, vulnerable, and _unconscious_?"

The vampire was evidently taken aback by that comment, along with the string of thoughts passing between them, but he merely smiled, a seductive arch in his eyebrows as he took a step or two toward her.

 _Hera, you're overreacting. Truly, my love – this isn't as dreadful as you're making it out to be, I promise. Let me explain…._

 _I'M OVERREACTING?_ she screamed inside his head, causing his footing to falter for just a moment, but he quickly saved it and continued forward. _Are you kidding me? You used me! You LIED to me!_

"You were not alone," he said gently. " _I_ am _always_ with you, my love," and he reached out for her.

 _Hera, I never lied to you! PLEASE!_ _Talk_ _to me!_

Hera took a step toward him.

"Yes. You were always with me," she said.

She allowed him to run his fingers along the little stream of blood on the side of her head, watching as he licked his fingers clean so he could then behold the flashes of her memories.

His eyes widened in realization, and before he could even begin to contemplate his next move, everything stopped.

It was cold and sharp, the silver stake she slammed into the center of his gut, and he glanced down at the weapon with confusion, his brow furrowing. He looked up from her hand that was now bathing in his blood and into her eyes, finding that she had fresh tears tumbling down her cheeks in heavy droplets.

When he opened his mouth to speak, she twisted the stake violently, making sure he could feel it and she watched as the pain stole his breath.

"But not anymore," she whispered.

Dracula held her gaze with an uncharacteristic desperation and the agony in his expression shattered the remnants of her heart. Unknown to her, he had felt it all. In that brief second when her blood had touched his tongue, he had had just a taste of her pain. He could not yet understand the reasons for its apparent depth as he hadn't the time to make sense of the images he saw in his mind, but he assumed it had to do with what he had said to Aleera and if that in itself wasn't enough to kill him, the venomous bite of Van Helsing in wolf form chomping down on his shoulder from behind certainly did the trick.

The monster hunter's teeth tore through flesh and sinew, finally meeting and tasting blood as Dracula cried out.

No!

He could not leave Hera like this!

He couldn't die with her not knowing the truth, the _real_ truth!

She thought he had left her, had cruelly used her, and though his panicked mind protested wildly, it was too late.

He was dying, his flesh decaying, his soul leaving his body, and the lives of all his children that had just been given existence – it was all snuffed out in the blink of an eye.

Hera froze on the spot as more tears rained down her face and she watched the lover who betrayed her shrivel and die before her eyes.

The vampire fought, tried to resist, but there were laws that were greater that even his unearthly power couldn't challenge. He had been strong in life, and even stronger in death... but he had risen from dust and to dust he would return.

As Dracula wasted away, his screams echoed through the castle, the only audible thing being Hera's name on his lips, coupled with a long and mournful sound of protestation.

Within moments there was no more flesh, only ash, a charred husk, and soon not even that. Finally, there was only soot burned into the floor.

Dracula was gone.

Hera stood there, more tears tumbling down her face as her eyes fell upon the werewolf who was now snarling in her direction. Closing her eyes, she outstretched her arms in a beckoning manner, waiting for the beast to tear her to ribbons. The monster swept a clawed hand in her direction, the tips of his claws raking across her stomach – not deep enough to be fatal, but enough for it to break the skin.

Hera fell to the ground beside the Count's ashes, the pain stealing her breath, but before the beast could go in for the kill, it was momentarily distracted by a sudden prickling sensation in his back. The werewolf howled as the antidote began to make its way through his system like liquid fire and the beast thrashed back once, trying to remove the syringe from his left kidney. Fortunately, Anna had the foresight to jump out of the way before the wolf could strike her in the process.

As the last Valerious watched the hunter turn back into a man, Hera's world grew silent. She couldn't hear the sound of Carl trying to gauge if she was alright; she couldn't even see the hunter and gypsy princess kissing passionately as they relished in their victory.

All Hera could hear were the echoes of Dracula's screams ringing in her ears.

He had been screaming her name when he had died.

The woman had felt him die inside of her. She felt his children die, as if they had been in her blood. But the abomination within her womb still thrived, even with the wolf's lacerations across her abdomen and it was then Hera understood she could not share in the other's victory.

She had lost.

Hera situated on the floor — silent and still, though sitting now — as the vampire's destruction played and replayed over and over again in her mind, the confusion and anger in his eyes when she had stabbed him, the pain when Van Helsing bit into him… the despair as he withered away into nothing but ash.

Hera lied there staring, wishing that her tears would bring him back, but it was too late. What was done was done. He had used her, and he had been defeated… and she was left to deal with the lingering repercussions of his actions.

Everything else that transpired shortly after was an indistinguishable blur to the young woman. Van Helsing, Anna, and Carl tried to help her, attempting to bind her wounds and carry her back to Visceria. She had heard their urgings, had heard her voice explaining why they needed to leave her here alone, though she could hardly recall speaking the words herself.

After much deliberation and some insistence on Carl and Van Helsing's part to trust the lies Hera had convincingly given, Anna offered the woman a tearful goodbye and then they were gone.

Hera remained utterly motionless, soon very alone in the burned down laboratory, no emotion in her eyes.

All she could do was stare at the pile of ash beside her.

It would be nearly a half an hour later, when Castle Dracula was utterly abandoned and devoid of all life that reality would finally kick in for Hera.

And when it did, it hit her harder than she could have ever anticipated.

It started off softly at first, warm tears trailing down her filthy face, a cool, icy wind running through her hair—and then the storm hit, abruptly and without warning.

Hera let out an ear-piercing scream, which soon turned into a gut-wrenching wail as her entire world shattered to pieces around her, everything growing dark. All the memories of the moments that she had shared with the Count assaulted her on all fronts and she was powerless to stop them.

With every memory, she cried harder and harder until her throat was raw.

When she remembered how he had used her, how that ugly truth changed everything she had shared with him, how it altered her once happy existence, how it tainted the once beautiful memories, she shattered again, only this time, it was her whole heart and she was left in unsalvageable fragments.

Hera Garret was completely and utterly destroyed.

With one hand still pressed to the bleeding wound on her abdomen in a half-hearted effort to numb the physical pain, with her free hand she cradled her head, sobbing violently, cursing the vampire's name, screaming at the deafening silence.

" _I LOVED YOU_!" she cried at the top of her lungs. "I loved you!" and she fell to the floor in a heap in hysterics, her breathing uneven, and tears relentless.

The woman removed her blood soaked hand from her stomach and hovered it over the pile of ash that was once her lover and she continued to cry, only the sobs grew softer now as exhaustion took over.

"I loved you," she whispered through her tears. "Why did you lie to me? Why?"

The child within her kicked at her womb and she screamed at the pain before her agony turned to anger. Grabbing the silver stake at her side, she stabbed it angrily at the ashes, as if she were stabbing Dracula.

"I trusted you! I TRUSTED YOU!" and she stabbed the floor again, harder this time, her despair turning into fury as she screamed. "I HATE YOU!" she shrieked, throwing the weapon down and hitting the ash with her fists before falling face first into them and breaking down once more.

"I hate you," she sobbed. "I hate you."

As Hera lay there, something strange began to happen.

The Count's remains began to expand and Hera sat up and watched in horror as the blood she had spilled mingled with the dust, which then began to take the form of a man. First the husk, then the full skeleton, which grew organs, sinew, muscles, flesh, clothes…

Hera crawled back in fear as she watched the Count's body grow back and his presence reentered the room like a light breeze through an open window.

She began to panic.

No!

Dracula was coming back, and undoubtedly for the baby!

The wheels in her mind began to turn wildly as she fought for some idea of what to do.

Although she had resigned herself to this course of action a while ago, the option was still atrocious in her mind, but she wouldn't let him have his prize – not if it meant the inevitable destruction of mankind. Hera seized the silver stake before straddling the Count's waist with her knees, grabbing his hands and forcing him to hold the weapon, the point positioned in the direction of her protruding stomach.

"I will not be your slave," she promised. "I will not be your puppet, your vessel. I will not let your demon spawn harm a single innocent soul, you _monster_!" she screamed, and when she least expected it, the Count's soul reentered his body and the vampire let out a cry as he convulsed, his body reanimated.

His eyes snapped open and he sat up slightly, only to pause when he saw Hera's face perched above his.

His first reaction was that of shock, anger, and then pain.

"Hera, I have to tell you somethi…" but he was cut off when he saw the agony in her face.

And then he became aware of the pressure in his hands.

He looked down with curiosity, noticing something warm and wet bating his fingers, sliding down in small streams over the back of his hands, soaking the cuffs of his sleeves.

The smell hit him like a wall of bricks as he recognized the color, the texture, and it finally registered—

Blood.

Hera's blood was all over his hands, and in his hands was the silver stake.

Dracula immediately let go of the weapon as if in hopes that doing so could undo the action, but he knew it was too late. He could feel his child within her—that unborn life dwindling and then it died – gone forever with no hope of recovering it.

A part of him was furious and he went to send Hera a hateful look when he noticed the fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.

"No… Hera…" he panicked, moving out from beneath her and watching as she fell back onto the floor, gasping for air. "You foolish woman… no. No, no no…."

He didn't know what to do.

He just sat there, staring at the blood that was gushing and pooling around her, sorrow and fresh panic in his eyes.

"No, Hera…" he pleaded, a pathetic twinge in his voice.

Why would she kill herself? _Why?_

"Why did you lie me?" she whispered, her face rapidly losing color.

Dracula's heart got caught in his throat as his emotions started to get the better of him.

"I didn't lie to you, Hera, I swear it," he said, taking her hand in both of his and showering it with kisses, but she seemed unmoved by his declaration and he saw it.

"Yes you did," she whispered. "Jane showed me before she died. She gave me this," and she pulled the empty vial out of her coat pocket and it slipped from her grasp as her strength began to ebb away.

Dracula understood immediately.

That night with Aleera, in his study… when Jane had been the unknown witness.

His heart fell into the pit of his stomach and he suddenly grew ill.

"No, Hera. What I told Aleera was a lie," he insisted. "I lied to _Aleera_ so she wouldn't harm you! Please… please believe me, I would never do that to you," and he choked on his voice. "I love you, Hera."

He suddenly became aware of how cold her hand was, how slow her heartbeat had become, and a wave of nausea overtook him.

"Why did you get me pregnant?" she rasped, finding it harder to breathe, the pain in her stomach spreading throughout her body before numbing itself. Dracula cradled her head in his arms and looked into her eyes. "Why didn't you send me away if you knew, if you cared so much about me? Carl says the delivery would have killed me, Vlad. You would have let me die – all for another pawn in your schemes? You lied to me, Vladislaus… I… I trusted you."

"Hera, please," he begged her. "Forgive me. I didn't want to hurt you like this. I tried to stay away from you that night. I tried to protect you from me, but I couldn't. I wasn't… I wasn't strong enough. I was going to come back for you before you had the baby. I was going to save you, Hera. You have to believe me."

For the first time in centuries, Dracula had tears welling in his eyes, but Hera missed them.

"I can't believe you anymore, Vladislaus," she said between breaths, her vision blurring. "You lied… everything you said was… was a lie."

Her heartbeat had slowed dramatically now and Dracula began to panic.

She was slipping… he was losing her!

He couldn't lose her.

He wouldn't be able to survive without her and a single tear broke loose and tumbled down his cheek, his voice breaking.

"Hera, let me save you," he pleaded. "I can turn you."

"No."

"Hera, please. Stay with me. I need you, love. I… I _need_ you. Please… please don't go."

He went to grab the stake so he could pull it out of her and heal her, but she stopped him.

"No!" she protested weakly. "It's finished," and her reality began to slip from her.

Dracula seemed so much farther away now than he did before and in the distance she could hear the sound of London – the cars on the streets, phones ringing, people talking.

Dracula watched in horror as Hera began to literally disappear in his arms. When his arms could go right through her now ghostly appearance, he started to scream.

"Hera! Hera, NO! Hera, come back! HERA!"

Hera became aware of a strange sound softly in the distance.

What she didn't know was that it was the Count's heart, and it was breaking.

She reached out and touched his cheek before her entire hand became translucent and he could feel her no more.

"Goodbye, Vladislaus…" she breathed.

And then her entire world went black.

* * *

 **Remember, we still have 15 more chapters to the story so we're not done yet. Have faith.**

 **Would appreciate your feedback. Next chapter will go up tomorrow morning. Thank you for reading.**

 **\- T**


	51. One Hundred and Twenty-Seven Years

**Huge thanks to** Scarlet Empress **,** the invisible reader **,** alexc1209 **,** Madam Silver **,** She-Devil Red **,** RegencyPoet **,** 12345678910 **,** Layla Azeen **,** Katie **,** Kiriari **,** tfwnogfdracula **,** violetrose18 **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** BornRose2 **,** Guest **,** Cosmopolitan Countess **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** Bloodsired **,** ShadowSpade **,** DreamBubbles **,** AnimeFan001 **, and** Nyx-Arae **for reviewing in the last 24 hours! And an extra special thanks to those who took the time to review both chapters. That really does mean a lot to me, and I can't thank you enough! You guys are amazing and I feel very blessed to have such awesome readers :)**

 **Your awesomeness aside, however, I fear that for the next several installments we'll be continuing in the theme of emotionally heavy chapters. Although I'm certain several of you will get burned out quickly when it comes to the heavier tone, I stand by my decision to write the story thus** (or rather, to keep it as it was originally) **. Growth does not happen in times of ease and comfort - there needs to be some kind of opposition, and that will stand true for our favorite couple for a while... but not forever ;)**

 **Would really appreciate your feedback on this one!**

* * *

 **LI**

 _ **One Hundred and Twenty-Seven Years**_

Hailey Stevens winced as the anticipated hangover finally took its hold on her. She grumbled loudly, pushing the matted mess of her purple-dyed hair from her face before throwing one of the pillows over her head to block the blinding sun from her eyes. With a colorful string of curses, she sat up in bed, squinting in response to the merciless assault of the afternoon daylight.

Her head pounded painfully, the not-so-fun repercussion of a night of one too many shots. She took note to the couple of painkillers and a bottle of some sports drink chocked full of some much needed electrolytes on her nightstand and she smiled, reaching out for them.

"Hera, I fucking love you," she mumbled under her breath, popping the capsules into her mouth and washing them down with several large gulps of the lukewarm beverage.

Shuddering slightly, she continued to sit on the edge of her bed, sipping with her feet dangling over the side, and her head slowly clearing as her eyes finished adjusting to the light.

After what felt like ages, she finally looked up at the clock hanging over her door and groaned when she realized what time it was. Upon standing, her footing a little more unsettled than she would have preferred, Hailey wandered into the bathroom and then emerged a short time later in a pair of spandex shorts and a well-worn AC/DC t-shirt.

She stumbled into the hall, heading towards the living room where she could hear the TV on.

"Hera!" she shouted, glancing into the living room to see her friend's long hair hanging over the arm of the sofa. That's all she could really see of her. "Hon, why did you sleep on the couch? That's what the bed is for!" she teased as she stumbled into kitchen.

Hailey began to pull her hair back into a sloppy ponytail before splashing some cold water on her face in the kitchen and then grabbing another sports drink from the fridge after she finished the first.

"Hera, I know you didn't drink more than me. Come on, you lightweight; get up. I was thinking we could stop by Timberyard's for some coffee and some lunch, since it's after noon? And I got a text from you dad. He's at the university for the day. Maybe we can go say hi?"

Hailey picked up a pillow and threw it over the couch, aiming for Hera.

"Come on, girl, you sleep like the fucking dead," she laughed.

The smile, however, faded from her face when she noticed the pillow she had thrown over the couch had fallen to the floor, Hera remaining completely unmoved.

Hailey absently took note of the open window in the living room, and the fact that the credits to the movie _Van Helsing_ were on the television screen, but most of her attention was focused on her friend who appeared to be asleep on the couch.

She was covered in a black blanket, but something was off.

"Hera?"

Hailey moved around the sofa and noticed how deathly pale her friend's face was, and how something dark and wet had stained the edge of her sofa and was now leaking onto the hardwood floor below.

"Hera?" she called again, this time a bit softer, fear starting to weigh heavily on her chest as something told her that her friend was not all right.

Gathering what courage she could, Hailey reached for the end of the blanket and ripped it off, only to scream in utter horror at what she saw.

Hera was covered in blood, something silver sticking through the gory wound in her swollen stomach, and the stench of it all hit her in a single unforgiving wave.

Hailey vomited, and then everything thereafter was a blur.

The calling of the ambulance that wouldn't seem to get there fast enough.

The chaos when they all came barging into the flat—the medics, the police, the detectives.

All Hailey could continue to do was scream and cry, watching as baffled medics miraculously found a pulse on Hera's otherwise cold, pale neck, and they carried her out of the room on a gurney.

* * *

"Who is she?"

"Isn't that that famous professor's daughter?"

"The knighted one?"

"Yeah! Sir Henry Garret?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"What do you suppose happened to her?"

"Doctor, what is that thing in her stomach?"

"I don't know, I've never seen anything like this before."

"Doctor, we're starting to lose her. She has a pulse, but it's weak and fading."

"We've got to get that thing out of her."

"I need a blood transfusion and now! And someone get me her medical records! And would someone please keep her father out of here!"

"WHERE IS SHE? Where's my Hera!"

"Mr. Garret, please… you need to leave. You shouldn't see."

"I WANT TO SEE MY CHILD!"

"Jason, please escort Mr. Garret out of the room."

"Come along, sir. She'll be fine. She's in good hands."

"She will _not_ be fine! Are you an idiot? She has that thing in her stomach… HERA! HERA! Unhand me at once! This is an outrage! Let me see my girl! I want to see my daughter! HERA!"

"Doctor, her pulse is dropping!"

"HERA!"

"For the love of God, get him out!"

"Doctor, I have her medical records up."

"Blood type?"

"O positive."

"Thank god. Mary! I need an IV in this girl! Stat!"

"Doing it as we speak!"

"Doctor, her heart!"

"Get that thing out of her!"

"What do you suppose it is?"

"It appears to be made of pure silver."

"What in God's name…"

"Oh my God, is that a _child_?"

"I don't know what the bloody hell that thing is, but I'm pretty sure babies aren't supposed to look like that."

"Dear lord, what is it?"

"It has fangs!"

"Doctor! Her pulse!"

"Is that IV in her yet?"

"Yes."

"Get me a defibrillator! NOW! Turn that damn thing on!"

"Her heart rate is still dropping, Doctor. She's not going to make it."

"The silver object looks like a… a stake? Are you fucking serious? What sick person would…"

"It appears to have impaled her and the child."

"That thing is not a child… it's a… a monster!"

"Look at its fingernails doctor."

"Sweet virgin Mary, mother of God."

"Get that demon out of her! She's lost way too much blood and this transfusion is going to do nothing if we don't sew her up!"

"Is that blasted thing charged yet!?"

"Just five more seconds!"

"Get that thing out of her! Kate, clean out the wound and get as much of that black stuff out of her as you can."

"But it's everywhere and we don't even know what it is!"

"Just do it!"

"Her heart!"

"I've got the little _beastie_ out. Where do you want the thing?"

"Put it over there. We'll deal with it later."

"Doctor, Mr. Garret is still outside the operating room."

"I told you to get that bastard away from here!"

"That bastard is her father, Doctor."

"I'm sorry. I just… he needs to sit in the waiting room."

"Doctor, there's too much of this black substance inside of her. I'm not sure I can get it all out."

"Well try, Kate."

"What is it, anyway?"

"Hell if I know."

"Thirty bpm! Doctor we're going lose her!"

"It's charged! Quick!"

"Everybody clear!"

"It's still going down."

"Bollocks!… CLEAR!"

"Doctor…"

"Come on, girl. Don't die. I've never lost a patient; I won't let you be my first! CLEAR!"

"She's at fifteen sir."

"How in God's name, that's not possible! She should be dead!"

"CLEAR!"

…

"She's gone sir… she's gone."

"Time?"

"2:37 PM. July 12th."

"Damn it."

…

"Doctor?"

"What is it?"

"Look at the monitor."

"But… that… that isn't possible."

"What isn't?"

"Her heartbeat… it just… it just started on its own!"

"What?"

"It's weak, but… she's alive!"

"That's it girl, keep fighting. Kate, get me a needle!"

"Yes doctor."

"From what it looks like that… silver weapon… whatever it is, it appears to have impaled her through the abdomen and into the skull of the… child inside of her."

"That is not a normal child, Frank."

"Whatever the bloody hell it is, I don't care. Just… we'll pretend it's a child until we can prove otherwise."

"It looks like the weapon missed her vital organs, although it's hard to tell with all this black stuff everywhere."

"What do you suppose it is?"

"That stuff is what was coming out of the baby's head. Do you think it could be blood?"

"Well, it could be… but why is it black?"

"It's not. It's just a very dark shade of red that appears to be black… see?"

"Ahh…"

"But blood only gets that dark when it was really old or coagulated."

"I know, which is peculiar, because Miss Garret's blood is still a healthy red."

"Do you think the baby was already dead inside of her?"

"I'm not sure."

"Did you find anything wrong with her?"

"Minus the enormous hole in her stomach, no."

"Alright then. There isn't much we can do. We've gotten out what we can for now. We'll put her on some antibiotics and get her on a morphine drip. Let's stitch her up. How's her heart doing, Kate?"

"She's stabilizing. Her heart is still weaker than we'd like, but she's fighting. I only hope it lasts."

"Well, let's at least clean the girl up and get her to the ICU so her father can see her. No other visitors though, Kate. Just him. And he can only be in there for a little bit. Fifteen minutes tops – we'll need to run tests."

"Yes, Doctor."

"Now then, while they move her, let's figure out what the hell this little thing is."

"The authorities would like us to leave the weapon alone so they can study it for fingerprints."

"I don't care what the hell they do to it. Just don't tell anyone about the child… I want to study it first."

"Frank! It's just a child! Let it be dead in peace!"

"That is not a normal human baby and you know it, Sean!"

"We have no right to be messing with that thing."

"It's for medical purposes, Sean. The child stays in this room. No one else is to know about it. Kate, cover it with a sheet or something and don't mention it to the professor. I think he's been traumatized enough for one day."

"Yes, doctor."

…

Silence.

Silence at last.

Everything had been so chaotic from the moment Hailey had found Hera in the living room that afternoon, he thought to himself. Willing himself to stay unseen, he lingered in the shadows of the hospital room, watching as Hera remained unconscious on the hospital bed. The leviathan of machinery, which kept her alive, unsettled him more than knowing there was a five-inch line stitched together with black medical thread across her abdomen.

The woman's face was deathly pale and she was bathed in a sickly and slightly eerie light of the overhead lamp that had been left on in her empty room. When he was certain everyone was gone, he willed the curtain to shield her from the view of the hall before his long, spidery fingers made their way into the light, gripping the wall for support as he shifted his body forward to get a better view of her.

His irises, which had once been a vibrant blue, were now a stormy grey, pale with dark circles shadowed beneath sunken eyes. He looked exhausted, ancient, his white skin gripping each muscle and bone, his hair a graying disheveled mess.

Count Dracula moved in utter silence, the lights dimming in response to his very presence, and he watched her, listening to the monitor beside her beep every time her heart pumped someone else's blood through her veins. Her scent was off because of it and not being able to smell that distinct, natural perfume of hers made things harder than he had imagined.

One hundred and twenty seven years.

That's how long it had been since he had seen her.

He realized as he made his way around the perimeter of the room, clinging to the shadows, that it had only been maybe a few hours for her.

The pain he had gotten a taste of when he had had just a drop of her blood was still fresh in his mind, even after all this time. And after placing all the pieces together, he knew and understood the reasons why she did what she had done that night. Why she hated him so, and why she was barely clinging to life now.

She didn't have much to cling to.

Dracula hadn't even bothered to steal a glance at his dead, unborn child, which had been left desecrated on a small operating table in the ER.

His attention was fixed only on her… his Hera.

She laid there now, a sheet pulled up to her chin in an effort to keep her modest—the linen folded up so the doctors could have easy access to her bandaged abdomen. He gingerly removed the taped gauze, peeling back the blood-stained cloth, forcing himself to behold the crudely sewn black stitches.

The sight tormented him; their very existence made him ill.

He had done this to her.

Yes, she had placed the stake in his hands, but he had shoved it right through. He had lost her that night over a century ago.

And now… he was going to lose her again.

Dracula placed his palm over the ghastly wound on her stomach, smoothing it over the sewn gash, watching with little fascination as the threads dissolved and the skin and muscle stitched itself back together. The extra but minor weight gained from her unnatural pregnancy vanished with his touch as well and her stomach was as it was meant to be. He healed her cuts, her bruises, the little gash on her forehead from Aleera's mercilessness… but he couldn't save her.

No matter how much he wished he could, he could only heal things on the outside, never within.

And although that phrase had two different connotations, the truth still stung bitterly in his eyes as he fell to his knees on the floor beside the hospital bed.

His expression illustrated his despair.

"Hera," he breathed.

Dracula's fingers reached slowly upward, gently taking hold of the woman's cold hand. He brought her knuckles to his lips, kissing them reverently. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he had spent a lifetime in tears.

His veneration was astounding, and his despair heartbreaking. It hung in the room like a black cloud, shattering the heart and swallowing up the soul in a deep, unfathomable depression.

The Count could feel a century's worth of bottled up emotions making their way to the surface and in a futile attempt to keep the floodgates from bursting, he clenched his eyes shut and held her hand in his all the tighter.

Then his voice broke.

He could hold it all in no longer.

"Hera, I'm so sorry," he whispered inaudibly as a single tear trailed down his cheek.

He kissed her hand fervently, his eyes opening once more to look upon her deathly still face. Her chest barely fell and rose with each breath and if it hadn't been for the monitor beside him that informed him her heart was still beating, he would have thought she was dead already.

"Hera?" he called, bringing himself shakily to his feet to stand beside the bed. He tenderly caressed her face with the back of his fingers. "Hera, my love, how I've missed you."

He swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears as the awful truth continued to beep on the monitor beside him.

"I… I don't know if you can hear me," he began," but I'm going to try. I have to say this, love, and I don't know if I'll get another chance. Hera, what you saw in Jane's memory – that night Aleera came to the palace with every intention of killing you. When she found out about us, about the baby, she was enraged – beyond reasoning. Naturally I didn't care what she thought, but in an effort to save you from her, I had to lie to her. I had no idea Jane was in the room, love, and if I had, I wouldn't have said those things. It was never my intention for you to know of my lies and I'll confess, what I told Aleera and… and what you saw – those were my original intentions when we had first met."

He paused for a moment, not because he was searching for the right words, but because it was the first time he would openly admit this and admitting it aloud was so much harder than doing so internally.

"Hera, from the very beginning, I knew you were different. There was something about you, beyond your faith and gifted genius. It was in the way you looked at me. The way you spoke. I had come across and have since encountered many women who were brave, outspoken and defiant, but none of them were ever like you. You were the only person to ever know me… the real me. The monster, the demon, and the man. And despite all my flaws and all the opportune moments you had to run from me, to rightfully loathe me, you never did. You still trusted me, despite it all… even up to the moment when you…"

He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

The tears were running freely and silently down his face now and he was totally unaware of their presence. All he knew was that her heart rate was slowing again and he was running out of time.

The blood of the child she had been carrying inside of her had been poisoning her system from the moment the silver stake impaled its head. It was a poison that no doctor could save her from. Not even he could save her from it. It was slowly killing her… with every heartbeat.

"I don't want to lose you," he cried softly, holding her cold face in his hands. "I want you to live, Hera. Please… don't…don't leave me. Not again. Not again…" and the tears came much easier now.

He looked down at her smooth and recently healed abdomen and noticed black beginning to flow through her veins from beneath the pallor of her skin. It spread like the cracking of glass, fragmented networks of veins and capillaries all overrun in a thick poison. The infant's blood was killing her and she was too weak to fight it off.

She was going to die and there was nothing he could do outside of turning her, and he could not condemn her further, not after everything else he had done.

Panic began to beat to a spastic rhythm within him as he looked back and forth between the heart monitor and Hera's pale face. He whispered her name repeatedly, pleading with her stay with him, but his appeals fell upon deaf ears.

Dracula didn't know what to do.

For the first time in his life, he was out of ideas.

He was helpless and without hope.

If he lost her now, he knew, thanks to his damned soul, that he would never see her again. He loved her too much to doom her in order to save her life, so turning her into what he was, was definitely out of the question.

He couldn't save her.

The devil couldn't help him, he knew from experience.

What hope did he have?

Suddenly, an idea crossed his mind that was so unimaginable, so unthinkable, and yet it was all he had. It had been centuries, hundreds and hundreds of years. He hadn't talked to God since he was in his youth back in the fifteenth century, and here he was, contemplating the idea of prayer.

He was almost disgusted with himself, even considering the idea of talking to God, the all-powerful being who had damned him, who had abandoned him, who had left him as the devil's plaything and experiment.

No.

No, he would not talk to God.

He would not sink any lower than he had…

But Hera… she was dying, and it was all because of him.

All because he had been too proud to tell Aleera the truth that night; too proud to kill his own bride if necessary to keep the one he loved safe; too proud to abandon plans he knew were wrong in his effort to seek revenge on the world that had abandoned him; too proud to take Hera far away from danger instead of leaving her in the middle of it, of treating her like a puppet on his string, manipulating her, using her, however unintentional it was.

In the end, it all came down to his pride, his greatest vice, and it was this pride that disgusted him more than the idea of praying to God did.

Hera did not deserve to die because of his mistakes, and for that reason alone did he fall on his knees, holding tightly to Hera's hand for support.

Then he closed his eyes, buried his conceit, and for the first time in over five hundred years, Dracula prayed.

His prayer was simple and rather irreverent. But he gathered what was left of his tarnished soul and poured it into every word he uttered, his pride soon ravaged to unsalvageable pieces.

"Dear… God."

He swallowed hard and wiped a bit of the perspiration from his forehead, gripping Hera's hand, squeezing it tight.

"I don't know what to do," he managed, feeling himself humbling with every syllable. It was degrading, revolting, but he continued.

He was doing this for Hera.

"I can't save her, God. Please… don't abandon her like you did me. Save her… I'll do anything. _Anything_ …" and he sobbed the last word.

This was too much.

It hurt.

All over.

His skin was prickling, the hollow chasm in his chest tightened, his heart ached as though it had been stabbed with shards of glass. He couldn't lose her and the idea of doing so forever mortified him. He was trembling as he sank beside the hospital bed, still holding her hand. Tears rained down like they never had before as he cried quietly.

"Please," he whispered, hardly able to breathe.

It was as if all the forces of hell fought to bind his tongue and still he prayed.

"Save her," he pleaded desperately, feeling a crushing weight of darkness envelope him.

He could hear Ilona somewhere in the back of his mind, her mad laughter, accompanied by the roars of Lucifer, the anger, the malice… the betrayal.

The son of the devil was praying to God.

The Count could already feel hell's flames licking his skin, the crack of Satan's whip tearing the flesh of his back, and the screams of a thousand tormented souls ringing in his ears, and still he prayed.

Hardly able to utter another word, he put everything he had, all of this strength, his resolution, and he was able to utter two more words.

"Save. Me."

Then everything went silent.

The pain vanished, the darkness lifted, and when Dracula opened his eyes and raised his head, he discovered he was surrounded by a pillar of light, brighter than the sun, with a person standing above him. The man's eyes were soft, gentle, yet they shown with a power far greater than the vampire Count Vladislaus Drăculea had ever known.

The Count froze in place, his eyes wide in astonishment.

The light burned his eyes, causing fresh tears to stream down his cheeks, but the sensation was hardly unpleasant, which surprised him.

The personage sensed his amazement and merely smiled.

Dracula heard a voice in his head, one he assumed belonged to the being standing before him.

 _I believe you and I need to have a talk…_


	52. Her Broken Heart

**Many thanks to** Scarlet Empress **,** alexc1209 **,** the invisible reader **,** Bloodsired **,** She-Devil Red **,** Guest **,** Madam Silver **,** Nyx-Arae **,** BornRose2 **,** ShadowSpade **,** 12345678910 **,** Lunaconspiracy365 **,** Anonymous Reader **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** Kiriari **, and** Cosmopolitan Countess **for reviewing chapter 51.**

 **Here are two more chapters to finish out the week. Would greatly appreciate your feedback on both of them! :)**

* * *

 **LII**

 _ **Her Broken Heart**_

First came the blinding light, and then following, a searing pain in her head.

She tried lifting up her arm in an effort to cover her face, but then she felt something tug in her skin.

"Oh… _hell_ ," Hera muttered to herself, groaning.

There was something… no… a lot of something's stuck in her arm. Muttering a few choice words after licking her parched lips, she managed to peel back one eyelid, the dim light from the lamp overhead feeling more like the sun. It took a few moments for her to open her other eye, and then for her vision to clear.

And when at last it did, she made a face.

It didn't take long for Hera to notice that something was off. In fact, the whole being in an antiseptic white hospital room, hooked up to three different IV drips and a heart monitor told her that something was very off indeed.

With a look of revulsion, she gingerly pulled the needles from the veins in her arms, placing them aside as she sat up, her whole body aching as if she hadn't moved from this very spot in days. Her pounding headache was slowly easing away as she took in her surroundings, trying to organize her thoughts, memories. Perhaps this was all a dream? Some weird lucid dream that she'd wake up from, finding herself in a lavish bedroom in Transylvania with her vampire lover, the infamous Count Dra-

Hera spotted something out of the corner of her eye and she turned her head slowly to find… her iPod?

But she had left that in…

Her eyes widened as it all suddenly came flooding back.

Budapest, Jane, the truth, the final battle, Van Helsing and Anna… Dracula.

Her eyes prickled with tears as she recalled it all.

Dracula had betrayed her, lied to her and still – after everything – he had insisted on playing dumb. Now she was back in her own time, in a hospital. Even after all the years it would have been for him, he had brought back her iPod. He had kept it and had chosen _now_ to return it just to torment her more, to remind her of how he had played her, manipulated her like some kind of fancy marionette on strings.

Grabbing her iPod in an abrupt and senseless fury, Hera threw it across the room and screamed, too weak to fight the sobs that soon suffocated her. She fell back onto the hospital bed, body trembling with every shuddered breath and heart-crushing weep, completely oblivious to the doctors and nurses that had suddenly rushed into the room to see what had caused her outburst.

She could barely hear her father in the background somewhere, calling her name, and the flashes of light told her that there were cameras – maybe half a dozen of them attached to the eager paparazzi who had miraculously gotten passed the incompetent hospital security. They were all shouting at her as the lone officer attempted to restrain them, frantically calling for backup. Hera was bombarded with questions, these strangers wanting the full story on what had happened to her, who had attacked her, and what that thing was that she had been carrying inside her womb.

Yet, she wasn't entirely conscious of any of it.

All she knew was it had felt like someone had taken her soul and torn it in half. It was as though she were simultaneously empty, yet bleeding inwardly and the pain was unlike anything she had felt or would ever feel again. There was only one thing Hera could hear amidst her torment – and it was the echoes of Dracula's screams in her head as she had disappeared in his arms.

But those images of him with Aleera, his conniving grin, his suave, seductive charm made her furious with him and yet still she ached. She could feel the fragments of what was left of her heart shattering when she realized he had been here. He was the only one who could have brought her her iPod. Who else would have brought it?

He had been here… with her.

Her one opportunity to confront him, and he was gone.

"VLAD!" she screamed, sobbing hysterically as she fought her way out of her bed, possessed with a sudden need to get to her iPod.

She had to find him, had to tell him how much he had hurt her, had to make him see what he had done, that she couldn't just forget about him. She had to understand why he had taken things so far.

She dove for her iPod, mere inches from grabbing it when two pairs of strong and unforgiving hands grabbed her by her arms and pulled her back to the bed.

"Somebody get these vultures out of here!"

"Come, Miss Garret. Calm down. You need your rest."

"NO! No! Vlad! VLAD!"

"Place her on the bed. Nurse, the restraints! We need to sedate her."

"No, let her go!"

Hera started to struggle, but soon went dead-weight, falling to her knees on the cold floor when the men who had been pulling her back let go.

Tumbling down to her knees, she buried her face into her arms and wept. The cameras and chaos of the reporters soon ceased as they were escorted off the premises; the doctors and nurses all stepped back in silence; everyone watched as Hera lied on the floor, placing her cheek on the cool tile, pathetic tears of an unsalvageable broken heart pooling on the ground as she curled into a ball, hardly decent in the flimsy hospital gown.

He was gone.

She couldn't feel it inside of her, that connection she had had with him—it was gone.

 _He_ was gone.

And she knew deep down that nothing would ever fill that void again and that knowledge made her sick.

"Hera?"

Hera looked up slowly to see her father kneeling in front of her. It had been over year, maybe even two, since she had seen him and yet he hadn't changed at all. His charming, aged face, his concerned, all-knowing eyes. She could feel his gentle hand as it reached out for her and brushed some of her hair from her face, tears of concern tumbling down his wrinkled cheeks.

" _Mon enfant_ , what has happened to you?" he asked, so broken to see his only living daughter so inexplicably distraught.

Throwing her arms around him and burying her face into his chest, Hera's aching heart burst as she wept on the floor, more like a small child in that moment than she ever had been. She breathed in his familiar scent – strong black coffee, peppermint, pipe tobacco, and aftershave.

Oh, how she had missed him, and that realization only seemed to make her cry harder.

With gentle pleading in Mr. Garret's eyes, the doctor and several nurses exited from the room, leaving the two alone on the floor in silence and there they remained for some time until at last, Hera's sobs finally came to an end, though tears continued to tumble down her flushed cheeks.

"Papa, I missed you," she whispered timidly, looking more like a small, lost babe in his arms than the grown woman that she was.

Henry Garret soothed her, stroking her hair and holding her close, offering what comfort he could, making sure she was calm before inquiring upon what everyone else had been burning to ask.

"Hera? What happened?"

Her slightly erratic breathing ceased rather dramatically in response to his question and she stiffened in his hold.

Immediately sensing the change in her, he pulled himself back so he could look into her eyes.

They were bloodshot, naturally from all the crying she had done. But that wasn't what bothered him. Her once vibrantly honey-colored eyes seemed duller. They weren't lifeless, but they were not the same. They looked aged. Something in her had changed and it pained him to see it.

He looked into her eyes for a moment or two in silence, waiting for her answer, watching as she internally fumbled around as if recalling everything that had transpired in her head and filing it away before ever uttering a word.

She was clamming up and he couldn't stop her once she had begun.

"Papa," she breathed, "I want to go home."

Deciding that it would be best not to press the matter, he nodded his head and helped her to her feet. Removing his old, weather-beaten trench coat and helping her into it in an effort to keep her more decent, he then wrapped his arm around her body, holding her close as he called in the doctor.

Although the physician would have preferred to keep the woman overnight to run more tests, she was in perfect health, save her despair, and they had no reason to keep her any longer. Within the hour, Hera had been checked out and her father led his daughter out of the hospital. She had her iPod gripped tightly in her left hand, the device clutched to her chest, her eyes cast down to the floor.

The paparazzi outside in the pouring rain were relentless, screaming their questions and accusations, begging for a comment, but the father and daughter silently pushed through the crowd and outside into the English summer, the torrential downpour soaking the two of them through as they made their way to the car.

François the butler appeared with the Garret's driver in Henry's town car, pulling up beside the curb in front of the hospital before jumping out to hold open the door for the somber looking pair. Both father and daughter slipped quietly into the back seat and then were driven away just before the rest of the media could chase them down.

Hera was taciturn for the entire duration of the five-hour drive from London to their home in the lake-district. The rain was unyielding and the silence in the car – oppressive.

Henry tried several times to strike up conversation with his only child, feebly attempting to gauge what had happened, who had attacked her, and why she was so distressed, so unlike her normal self.

But the answers she gave him were always soft-spoken and vague at best. And by the time they had arrived home, Professor Henry Garret decided that something horrible, perhaps even traumatizing, had happened to his daughter during her two weeks away from home and he wondered, as he watched her make her way slowly up the stairs, if she'd ever be the same again.

For the next few days, Hera remained hidden away in her room.

Few ever ventured inside and she rarely went out for anything, the only living creature permitted to linger with her being the family dog, Isis, who never left Hera's side for anything.

The woman barely ate and hardly slept, the hours of her day and the never-ending hours of the night spent in self-inflicted solitude. She was often found in the doorway of her terrace window, staring out at the sky when the sun had sunk behind the horizon. She took no visitors and never spoke a word as to what had happened.

Not that it would have made any difference if she had.

What she had experienced would make her more popular in the media than she already was. She was all over the news, people with cameras begging for just a few words from the daughter of one of England's most renowned academics, and an intellectual in her own right.

But she never said anything.

Psychiatrists, psychologists, scientists, and historians alike would have had a field day with her story, she silently assumed, though most would undoubtedly excuse her as mad.

She had gone back in time, and not just back in time. No. But the story she had taken part in was that of a film – an American film, on top of that.

She could hear the psychologists in her head, what they would say, how they would diagnose her. They'd insist that her hobby had turned into an obsession. Or perhaps her breakup with Thomas Prichard (which felt like years ago) had traumatized her and she had suffered a psychotic break. Maybe she had finally come to terms with her mother and sister's untimely deaths, or maybe it was the pressure of being a protégé of her father, coupled with her insecure personality and deplorable lack of a normal social life—all were likely reasons for her mental breakdown.

Yes, that's what they'd call it.

They'd accuse her of having a mental breakdown… a psychopathic one. With just a hint of schizophrenia.

They would tell her that she had dreamt the whole thing, and then the BBC would get to it and then all hell would break loose.

No, it was wise, she assumed, to stay hidden, and thus she remained.

After nearly two weeks subsequent to her arrival home from the hospital and back to her present reality, Hera finally left the confines of her bedroom. Although the crowds of press had all but dwindled away on the outskirts of her father's property, there were some who remained camped out, desperate to hear something. Hera made her way down the main staircase into the foyer with Isis trailing close behind. She found François waiting by the front door.

The butler's expression at her arrival was one of unabashed relief.

" _Miss Hera, you're finally out of your room_ ," he replied in his usual thick French, so moved by the sight of her, he could have wept for joy. Hera managed a smile, and though it wasn't much, it was enough for him.

" _Bonjour_ , _François_ ," she said gently in the butler's native tongue. " _Do you know where my father is_?"

" _He's on the outer grounds, by the gate trying to get the remainder of those vultures to go home_."

" _Whatever for_?" she inquired, her voice possessing the same soft, timid tone it had since she had first spoken.

Her heart may have been shattered to pieces, but she could still put on a marvelous show.

François seemed puzzled by her inquiry.

" _Miss Hera, they've been begging for you to tell them what happened since you were brought home two weeks ago. Naturally, in your state of distress, I think, and your father and the rest of the household agree that_ …"

" _François, if they wish to hear from me, I believe they deserve as much. I've been very selfish in keeping my personal life a secret from the rest of the world_ ," she answered sarcastically, her grin increasing just slightly as she reached for the door. " _Perhaps if I give them what they want they'll leave us alone_?" she suggested.

François, though with a hint of concern still present in his eyes, couldn't help but chuckle. Although Hera was pretending to be her normal self again, it was clear to the old butler how incredibly far from being her normal self she actually was, and only those who knew her best from that moment on would realize that.

" _Shall I escort you out to the gate, miss_?"

She shook her head.

" _That won't be necessary, old friend. I'm quite capable of looking after myself. Thank you_. _Although I do believe poor Isis could use some food and a walk,_ " and she motioned to the dark-haired northern Inuit at her side. The dog perked up at its name. " _Can you take care of her while I see to the leeches at the gate?_ "

" _Of course, Miss Hera. If you insist._ "

" _Merci._ "

He nodded his head and motioned for the open door and then he and Isis watched as Hera exited, the young woman all poise and utter control as she walked out into the overcast morning, making her way through the courtyard and down the drive to the long gravel path that led to the front gate. She could see her father in the distance, feebly attempting to bribe off the press, with their cameras and phones.

However, when Hera was finally spotted, the crowd grew more eager, more rambunctious, everyone yelling out their questions, holding their microphones through the bars of the gate, their cameras, voice recorders, and pens at the ready.

Henry Garret moved towards his daughter.

"Hera, is everything alright?"

She looked directly into her father's eyes.

"I'll be all right, Papa," she said for only him to hear, her tone matching the one she had shared with the butler.

Henry quickly observed that something was amiss in her, but the fact that she was out of her room and verbally communicating was enough to keep him silent on the matter.

"May I speak with them?" she asked a bit louder so the others could hear, seeking his permission.

Henry smiled tenderly and nodded his head, placing his hand on the small of her back as he quietly escorted her toward the gate, keeping her a safe distance away from everyone, just in case.

The questions started flying almost instantly.

"Miss Garret! What happened?"

"Who would want to kill you?"

"What is this baby the medical authorities are talking about?"

"Is it true you were carrying a vampire?"

"Is it true that Hailey Stevens, that American girl, was responsible for the accident?"

"Were you two seeing each other?"

"Is she your lover?"

"Was this a crime of passion?"

"Were you the victim of a cultish ritual?"

"Was it Mr. Prichard who tried to kill you?"

"Why have you been hiding from us?"

"What happened?"

Hera remained silent for a long minute, soaking in the chaotic noise as if it were therapeutic. It was certainly a drastic change from the solitary confinement she had willfully inflicted upon herself. She closed her eyes and allowed the noise to fill her. Then she took a deep breath and signaled for the crowd to silence before she spoke.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the press," she began with as much cordiality as she could muster. "I'm flattered that you have all been so concerned for my well-being and am rather embarrassed that many of you have taken to camping outside of my home in hopes of having your many questions answered."

She earned a few chuckles, but they all remained attentive.

"In response to your questions on what happened, I must confess, this entire event has been blown completely out of proportion. I can confirm that Miss Hailey Stevens was in no way responsible. She is my best friend and was out cold the night of the incident. Mr. Thomas Prichard also had nothing to do with this. It is true, I severed ties with him some weeks ago, but he doesn't have the balls to harm even a spider, let alone me."

That earned a few more laughs. She smiled, though Henry could see how dead her eyes were and it killed him.

"Suffice it to say, I was harmed, but not to the extent that you seem to believe I was. As you can see I am perfectly well and wish you would all move on with your very busy lives."

She then turned to leave, having said her piece, but that would not satisfy the leeches.

Everyone began shouting their questions again and Henry turned to walk his daughter back inside and to inform the authorities of the disturbance when one question in particular caught Hera's attention.

"What about the vampire baby?!"

Hera froze in place and turned to look at the man who had shouted it.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Rumors say that when the doctors took the intended murder weapon from your body that they found a vampire baby inside your womb. You've been accused of being a secret member of an underground cult, the chosen bride of the devil. What do you have to say to these accusations, Miss Garret?"

Hera could feel a chill rush down her spine.

"Do you have any evidence in regards to these rumors, sir?" she asked with as much composure as she could.

"Well, no. Just the testimony of the two doctors and the nurses that were in the OR with you the day you were found. But my sources say that the creature – whatever it was – disappeared shortly after they had stabilized you, along with the weapon. Some suspect foul play, but there is no evidence on the security tapes. I was wondering if you had any evidence to suggest that such a creature did exist? Perhaps to set the record straight?"

"Is this evidence enough for you?" she inquired with a noted twinge of hostility as she lifted up the edge of her blouse right to beneath her breasts so her flat abdomen was displayed for all to see. "I don't see any abnormal scarring from an emergency cesarean. Do _you,_ sir?" she snapped.

That shut a few of them up, several photographers snapping pictures before she lowered her shirt once more.

"What about the scar from the weapon?"

"The weapon?" she repeated.

"Yes, the one that authorities claimed they found lodged in your stomach."

Hera flatly ignored that question, getting irritated with these people and their persistent inquiries.

"What about those who claim to have pictures of the child?" another asked suddenly.

Mustering as much grace and humor as she could, considering the stress, Hera exhaled a bit impatiently.

"Have you seen these pictures yourself?" she asked.

"Yes, I have."

Many murmured amongst themselves.

"Oh really? Where?"

"A couple of gossip blogs, and the, uh… the tabloids, miss."

The murmurs turned to snickers and for the first time in what felt like an age, Hera laughed. She laughed until she cried, her eyes sparkling as tears streamed down her flushed cheeks and she gripped onto her father's arm for support.

"The tabloids?" she repeated, looking to her father for just a moment before returning her attention to the paparazzi. "We'll have to have it framed, Papa! Oh, that is most fascinating. Tell me, was the picture next to the one of the aliens that attacked the American White House, or is it next to the supposedly resurrected Elvis Presley?" she teased.

That seemed to silence the man and several of the others even began to jeer at him, mocking him for his theories and supposed sources.

"Sir, and those others of you who believe such nonsense," Hera continued, having regained control over herself, "I believe you have my answer _and_ my proof. There was no such child. Now, does anyone _else_ wish to ask me any more ridiculous questions?"

When no one answered, she smiled.

"That's what I thought. Well then, if you don't mind, I'm going to go back inside now. Please… go home. I hear Harry Styles just got out of rehab. Go bother him," and with a wave of her hand to shoo them away, Hera turned on her heel and reached for her father's arm, the two of them walking back inside.

The moment the front doors shut behind her, she instantly dropped her façade and her father observed the change.

"Hera, what hap— "

"I don't want to talk about it," she interrupted, sounding exhausted and impatient all of a sudden. "And I beg you to never try and bring it up again. Forget about it. It never happened!"

Evidently taken aback by his daughter's sudden outburst, he stepped back slightly to gain some ground before proceeding, but before he even could, she spoke.

"Papa, please," she pleaded, much gentler now. "I beg of you, don't press me on it. I really don't want to talk about it. It… it hurts too much."

Taking a deep breath, Henry reached out and held the side of his daughter's face, watching as fresh tears began to pool in her eyes.

"My dear, I want to help you," he said genuinely. "You're suffering, Hera. I'm not blind. I can see it as plain as day on your face. It doesn't matter how many smiles you put on or however many witty comments you give…" and he placed his other hand on the other side of her face, looking intently into her eyes. "You don't have to be a martyr, Hera. Please, just tell me what's wrong. What happened? If you don't want to tell me, at least tell me how I can help you. Let me help you, _ma fille_. I know you're hurting. You don't have to pretend with me – not when I can see everything in your eyes."

Hera winced visibly, his words and tenderness like daggers.

Dracula had said that to her once. Was she _that_ easy to read?

No.

Starting right now, she would never again be an open book to anybody. She didn't want anyone's help. Her suffering was her own doing, her own fault. She took full responsibility for her misfortunes and no one would carry that burden except her.

That burden was all she had left.

With a sense of resolve, she wiped her tears before they fell and she straightened her posture, holding her head as high as she could.

"You can't help me, Papa," she said. "I know you want to, but you can't. I have to go through this alone. I need to suffer through this alone. It's the only way."

"But Hera…"

"No father," she interrupted a little more firmly, removing his hands from her cheeks. She kissed his knuckles and allowed herself a sad smile. "I have to do this alone."

Henry was never really the kind of man to surrender easily, but when it came to Hera, he was helpless. Therefore, with a heavy sigh of defeat, he let his head fall as he patted her hand.

"Alright," he said. "But promise me something, Hera." She waited attentively for his request. "Promise me you'll be yourself again – that you'll at least try."

Hera wanted to cry but she forbade herself to do so.

"I shall try sir. I shall try."


	53. La Douleur Exquise

**_la douleur exquise:_** (French) **the heart-wrenching pain or exquisite agony of wanting someone you cannot have.**

 **Those of you that are _not_ new to my work may recognize that the title of this chapter is one I also used for the story I wrote when I first returned from my hiatus of the same name. I chose to use the phrase again because I felt it fit Hera and Dracula's present situation perfectly **(for reasons that will become even more clear later on) **.**

 **Would greatly appreciate your feedback or commentary on the chapter. Next installment will go up on Monday.**

* * *

 **LIII**

 _ **La Douleur Exquise**_

 _Several Weeks Later_

Hera smacked the keys of the piano in frustration as she tore the sheet of freshly written music in half before crumpling it violently into a ball and throwing it across the room with the other rejects.

This scene felt familiar. Almost _too_ familiar.

Grabbing a fresh piece, she placed it on the piano and took a deep breath as she stared at the blank piece of paper with its empty lines, marked only by a treble and a bass clef.

She had been sitting in this room for three days now and nothing, _nothing_ seemed to work. Her feeble attempt to distract herself from that harrowing emptiness in the center of her chest had been a fruitless one, although music provided a minuscule reprieve, but the problem was she couldn't compose anything.

Everything she tried didn't feel right and she could feel it—something great—it was right there in her head, like a word is on the tip of one's tongue and it was driving her mad. She could almost taste it, but the music that promised her some kind of cathartic freedom from her suffering seemed out of her reach.

With a heavy sigh that easily could have been mistaken as a sign of defeat, Hera held her head in her hands, raking her fingers through her long, freshly dyed hair. Yes, she had put those marmalade hues back into that copper mass, and though every day was a struggle, dyeing her hair had provided her with a sense of control, a feeling of stability, and she was slowly starting to feel more like her old self because of it.

Well, minus her shattered heart, that missing piece of her soul, and her lack of trust when it came to almost everyone. She had even gotten into the bad habit of keeping her father and the few close friends she had at arm's length, so terrified of being betrayed, though they gave her no reason to feel so.

But despite those rather well-concealed pangs, those private demons that still and forever would feast on her insides, Hera was slowly on the mend.

She knew, deep down, that the only way she'd really be able to put all of this behind her, the only way she could let go of _him_ completely (she couldn't even think his name without it hurting) – Hera knew she needed to confront her memories head on, to tell her story and then put it on the shelf forever. The only thing was, she was terrified of doing so.

Thanks to the rather inspired suggestion made by her father, Hera assumed that music would make putting it all past her much easier, but the truth was, in many ways it only made things worse. It was like cutting into a partially healed wound because of the infection resting beneath – peeling back the thick scab and pouring peroxide over it.

Her calloused heart and the fear of more pain than she had already endured put quite the damper on her mode of inspiration, which brought her right to where she was in this moment.

"What is wrong with you, Hera?" she muttered to herself, resting her forehead on the piano, staring down at the crisp white and black keys almost begrudgingly.

She knew what was wrong.

While part of her longed to let go of the past and move on, a small part of her feared to, didn't want to.

With another relentless sigh, she pushed herself to her feet and made her way over to the window so she could stare out at the summer sky. The rain had finally let up, which gave the sun full reign to beat against the window, warming Hera's face as she stared blankly at the scene below—the pampered lawns, the artistically kept hedges and bushes, the trees, the sculptures, the flowers, and an endless blue sky, littered with gloriously fluffy cumulus clouds.

She had to let it go.

She had to let it all go, the entire experience, from the Valerious family all the way down to Count Dra—well, there was no point in saying his name. She had to let him go, too.

It was time.

After admitting this to herself, she rested her weight against the window, closing her eyes.

"God," she prayed, her voice barely a whisper. "Help me."

And then it came.

People say inspiration comes in many forms.

It can come walking down the street, riding a subway, in a restaurant, in the park, during an opera or a film. It can come when you're one with nature, soaking in the wild mountain air, the scent of pine, or the sound of the ocean. It can come in the still of night, when there's nothing but a full moon hanging high up in a midnight sky.

But for Hera, it came with a phrase and a moment of complete, serene silence.

Rushing to the piano, she sat down and pulled out another piece of paper and then she removed the pen she had tucked into her messy bun. On this page, she wrote down names, places, and short phrases:

Broken heart.

First encounter.

Anna Valerious.

Velkan Valerious.

Visceria.

Verona.

Snow ball fight.

Castle Frankenstein.

First kiss with Velkan.

Meeting Dracula.

Nights with Dracula.

Sex with Velkan.

Getting caught.

Duel.

Living in Castle Dracula.

Marishka.

Aleera.

The truth about Ilona.

Labyrinth Game.

First real kiss with Vlad.

Sex with Vlad.

Going back to Visceria.

Learning about Velkan.

Going back to Vladislaus.

Quality time with a vampire.

Gabriel Van Helsing.

The Windmill.

Budapest.

Love declaration…

The list went on and on, covering the events that had transpired and the people included. It took her a good ten minutes or so to get the gist of it, and then she started at the beginning.

The first song she composed, which seemed to come out of nowhere, was what she dubbed as her theme, the melody that would embody her person and her soul. It came from deep within; every note and chord, the melody itself was Hera's. The depth, the inner fire, the misplaced trust. In it, she put her flaws and her strengths.

Then she wrote _Anna's Theme_ , and then one for Velkan, intertwining the various melodies into grand movements. For the next few weeks, she would spend hours in the music room, writing pages at a time before stopping and banging them out, as if someone was standing beside her, dictating the notes for her while the music played somewhere in the background of her head. She would write for hours at a time during the day, and then would perform the recently composed music well into the night.

No one was permitted to disturb Hera except for François, who was only allowed to bring food and drink in and out of the music room. Other than that, everyone had been banned from entering – man and beast – the servants couldn't even go in to clean. Especially after a certain event when one of the maids had gone in to tidy up the room and Hera had returned, screaming at the woman to get out and to never touch anything in there unless she was told to.

Hera was consumed, obsessed with this project she had taken on. It was her desperate attempt to heal and move on, and she was completely fixated on just that. She'd glare at the pages as she wrote, and then she'd weep as she played them, pounding mercilessly on the keys as she transposed her story, putting it to music.

When at last she finished, she emerged from the music room, rusted mascara stains on her cheeks, her hair greasy and chaotic. But in her arms lay sheets upon sheets of music, bundled tightly together in a folder.

Upon exiting from the room, she very timidly apologized to the maid she had screamed at weeks ago and gave her permission to clean the music room. Then she looked for François, inquiring on the location of her father. She found him in his study, preparing a lecture for one of his classes when she had entered.

His expression was priceless.

"Hera? What in God's name! Are you alright…" but he trailed off when he saw the glitter in her eyes, the small, genuine smile curving her lips.

A single tear trailed down her cheek as she placed the large stack of music onto his desk, looking like a proud little child, showing off an accomplishment.

Hera was ecstatic to the point of tears, and yet she remained as dignified as was humanly possible. She was still struggling on keeping herself a closed book, but after weeks of what she had endured, after metaphorically cutting herself open and bleeding onto the pages that now sat on Henry's desk, she was willing to open up just a little, to let her father take a peek over the carefully built walls she had been constructing since they had arrived home all those months ago.

Although the sight of his daughter weeping was never one that Henry Garret particularly cared for, he was thankful to find that the tears she was now silently shedding were tears of relief.

"It's finished," she whispered softly. "I finished it." When he didn't respond, Hera continued. "Athee helped me, Papa. And Mom. I could feel them in the room, helping me write it. It was like they knew what I was feeling, like they knew what I needed to write. They knew the music before I did… and we wrote it together."

She paused for a moment, recollecting herself before continuing.

"Anyways," and she cleared her throat, "I was wondering. Do you still have that number to contact the symphony hall in London? I was hoping that I'd be able to do a charity concert or something before the end of the year."

* * *

He had suspected that there would be a considerable turnout, but never in his existence had he imagined the place would be _this_ full. He knew he was running a huge risk, coming here tonight. Well, being in England in general was a huge risk, but when he had heard the news, he had to come.

It had been months now since he had seen her, and he couldn't resist the opportunity. After all, he just wanted to make sure she was all right. Listening to a composition of hers was just a bonus for coming all this way.

He just had to make sure she didn't see him, and everything would be fine.

Count Dracula had never been more wary in his entire existence.

Of course, considering the fact that Hera's life was on the line by him attending this evening, he had to take all the necessary precautions. He had made a deal with God, and he couldn't risk going back on his word, no matter how tempting it could be.

With his evening coat draped over his arm, he moved like a shadow across the lobby of the Royal Albert Hall in London, weaving through the massive crowds and into the hall itself where he took his seat in one of the top booths in the back. Certainly not the best seat in the house, but he had to be safe. After situating himself, he settled into his chair, immediately scanning the throng for any sign of Hera.

He knew she'd be here tonight. But from what he had assessed upon entering the house, she wasn't present just yet.

Deciding to stall for time, he finally released his death grip on the program, making a point to calm himself as he relaxed his hand and uncurled the small booklet, opening it up to find Hera's picture plastered on the title page.

The picture made him want to cry.

The woman herself was just as lovely as ever, but he quickly realized upon further inspection that she wasn't herself. Her smile wasn't genuine. And her eyes…

He groaned inwardly.

This was all his fault.

He wished more than anything that he could confront her; that he could at least attempt to fix or salvage things with her – perhaps even give her some closure. Heaven knew they both needed it. But alas, closure wasn't part of the deal.

In exchange for the saving of Hera's life, Dracula had agreed, along with a few other terms, not to make any kind of contact with Hera ever again. If he ever purposefully placed himself in her way, if she ever spotted him, she would be struck dead in that very instant, and her death would be on his head, or more appropriately, his eternal soul. Therefore, he was forced to remain hidden in the shadows. He had spent the last few months hidden away in his own native country and, therefore, far from Hera so temptation wouldn't assault him, so her life wouldn't be at risk.

But it had never been easy, staying away from her, and he wasn't entirely certain he'd be able to keep away indefinitely.

His presence here this evening was evidence of that.

It was bad enough hearing all the rumors and reports on how she locked herself away, how despite everything, certain media outlets continued in their harassment of her. But knowing that she was at least on the mend was the best news he had heard in ages. He tenderly stroked the back of his finger along her printed cheek, imagining the feel of her hair, the soft skin of her face.

He lost himself in that reverie for a moment or two until a thunderous applause interrupted him and he opened his eyes to find the house lights dimming, a spotlight aimed at some nameless man on center stage. Dracula tuned out the welcomes, the sterilized mini-biography on Hera, and the introductions to her masterpiece.

At last, the man finished his speech and the conductor took his position – and then the spotlight fell upon the grand piano on the far left of the stage towards the front where a young woman had already been sitting in the darkness.

The music began.

The beginning melody was simple and sweet – starting with the agonizing melancholy of a single violin, each note passionate and hopelessly wretched. He glanced down at the program and noticed that this first song was entitled: _Goddess' Theme_.

Dracula smiled.

This was Hera – those beautiful, heartbroken notes that lingered in the air – this song was her.

When the melody had been established, the piano took over and the two instruments intertwined into a tragic duet that simultaneously elevated and shattered him. Then the orchestra joined, growing and sweeping into a grand opus that carried every soul in the room away, transporting the audience to a different time, a different place.

Seated at the handsome grand piano, was Hera herself.

She was dressed in a simply designed strapless black chiffon number, her vibrant hair pulled back into a slightly disordered, yet elegant updo which rested at the base of her neck. Upon observing her from a distance, he quickly understood that this heartfelt music wasn't just by her, but it was pouring out of her, onto the keys, resonating in the belly of the instrument, and then washing over the concert hall in one unforgiving wave.

If his heart had been beating, it would have stopped at the sight of her.

Old memories came flooding back and a pain somewhere deep within his soul was rekindled all over again when he saw the misery etched in her furrowed brow. He gripped the railing in front of him in an effort to keep himself in his seat.

He couldn't confront her.

All he could do was sit and watch—watch as those pitiful tears began to glitter in her eyes, and how halfway through the performance they finally broke loose.

This was her story, the music.

She had written her story, her time in the past.

It was her only way to let go.

But he didn't want her to let go!

He didn't want her to forget, although part of him prayed she would so she could move on, but he hated seeing her like this. He wanted more than anything to rush to her side, to wipe away her tears and hold her to him until the pain went away.

But he'd never get that chance.

And as soon as the reality came back to him, he realized his mistake in coming here. He was only making things worse, not only in regards to Hera's life, but for himself. Unable to withstand the pain buried behind the music and the tears that were tumbling down Hera's cheeks freely now when they finally reached the end of the performance, he rose from his seat and quickly vacated the premises just as the rest of the auditorium rose in a thunderous standing ovation.

Dracula had tolerated the agony of his mistakes for over a century now, but the past few months had been almost impossible to endure, knowing now that there was no hope for him. He would have to witness her deterioration, her life, and her death, and then he'd never see her again.

With a heavy heart, he walked out into the evening streets of London.

The Count was ready to go home, and he hoped, for both he and Hera's sakes, that they'd both be able to move on, to forget. But something told him this was a fool's hope. He already knew he'd never be able to move on.

He had tried for over a century.

And he had failed miserably.

Soon hidden in the darkness of a luxury hotel room, he stared blankly at the only source of light: the flames in the gas operated fireplace. His blue eyes possessed the deepest sense of despair as he stared at the orange and yellow flames, only half-aware of the tears that were streaming down his ashen cheeks, his fingers thoughtfully brushing over his lips as a hauntingly familiar tune lingered softly in the air.

She didn't know.

She'd never know the truth… what he did to save her life.

The reasons.

She'd hate him forever and he couldn't bear the thought.

It was for the better, he tried to convince himself, recalling the look of empty heartbreak in Hera's eyes this evening, the ache in her tears, the constant screaming of her soul that was continuously calling out for him. It would haunt him for hours in the night and then it would linger like a shadow or a whisper in the back of his mind during the long hours of the day.

It was for the better, he thought once more, repeating it like a chant, but his heart knew otherwise. His past mistakes still tortured him, and the unknown sacrifice he had made to save her weighed heavily upon him as each day passed, as he caught traces of every thought she had had during the concert.

She loathed him, yet loved him still with every fiber of her being and she couldn't understand why. She'd never know why, and he would never get the opportunity to tell her, never to have the chance to make things right.

The tears continued to fall on their own volition, and yet he remained impassive, staring hard into the fire as the winter's snow fell softly against the window.

He had to move on.

It was the only way he was going to survive this. He had to let her go, forget her. He knew he'd never fail to remember her, but he knew he had to at least try. He had to turn her into a memory, like everything and everyone else who had ever been in his life. She'd just be another raw chapter in his sordid existence.

It was his only option.

She would one day get over him, and then she'd continue to blossom. She'd heal, fall in love, get married, and have a family. She'd forget all about him as the years went by, he was certain of it.

He had to do the same.

Otherwise the pain would drive him to madness. He would have to freeze himself over once more, rebuild the walls she had managed to so effortlessly destroy.

He'd forget just as she would, with time.

Or so he hoped.

 _No_ , he thought numbly to himself. _I will never be able to forget her… I will never be able to move on. Not when she still holds my heart in her hands._


	54. Trying to Heal

**Happy Monday, my friends! :) I apologize if this chapter is up a bit later than normal. It is a holiday here in the US and I chose to sleep in for a bit... in fact, I think I'm going to go back to bed after posting this. Still not feeling too good.  
**

 **Anyways, a TREMENDOUS thank you to all of you wonderful people who reviewed over the weekend:** She-Devil Red **,** alexc1209 **,** the invisible reader **,** Scarlet Empress **,** Bloodsired **,** Madam Silver **,** BornRose2 **,** 12345678910 **,** AnimeFan001 **,** RegencyPoet **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** ShadowSpade **,** EMO-KID411 **, and** Nyx-Arae **. Your glorious feedback continues to blow me away each and every time I receive it and I adore you for the time you take to not just read the chapters, but to share your thoughts with me. As a writer who has dedicated so much time to not just writing, but editing this story and tweaking things and agonizing over details - your commentary truly does mean the world to me, so thank you.**

 **Forgive any errors I may have missed, and enjoy!**

* * *

 **LIV**

 _ **Trying to Heal**_

The years went by slowly at first, usually just one day at a time. Getting through each and every hour was a struggle in and of itself, and Hera found that keeping herself busy made that time more tolerable. It wasn't as difficult as she had assumed to get back into the swing of things.

She had become so consumed with the positive critiques of her now prestigious musical work, which had grown in popularity almost overnight, that now she found herself touring the continent, performing in packed concert halls. When the musical tour was done, however, it was time for Hera to move out of her father's house and on her own.

The woman became the embodiment of poise and independence. Her obsession with her studies was shortly rekindled after her move to the capital, and she made certain to drown herself in research and historical societies, occasionally travelling with her father for various conferences and lectures. When she wasn't doing academic work, she was supporting a variety of charities specialized in women empowerment, becoming one of England's greatest and most popular of socialites – whatever she could to keep herself out of her head and out of the past.

Being constantly busy proved to be Hera's greatest remedy in overcoming her misfortunes. Although the pain never went away completely, she was less conscious of that aching in her heart as time went on – or perhaps she had just grown accustomed to it. Whatever it was, she gradually started to go back to her regular self…

Well, mostly.

Her father would confess in private amongst only his closest of friends that his Hera, though as brilliant and confident and active as ever, was not the same as she had been before – and whether that was an entirely good or bad thing, neither Hera nor her father could really say.

Perhaps it was because as the years went by, it became easier and easier for Hera to guard herself. Her carefully constructed walls were impenetrable by even her father and closest friends. She never spoke of her experience to anyone, and found that acting like it never happened made those around her forget about it, which in turn made it easier for her to suffer in silence without interruption.

Yes, in overcoming her flaw of being far too trusting, she developed a tendency to not trust anyone at all.

In many ways, she had become the female equivalent of her long-lost lover, the – for all intents and purposes – _fictional_ Count Dracula. In the public eye, she was confident, polite, charming, and graceful – everything that he had been. But Hera had also picked up his impatience, his temper, and his art of manipulation.

Yet, despite these changes in her person, Hera never drew the parallel between herself and the Count. Perhaps it was because as the years passed, she thought of him less and less, and if the vampire happened to cross her mind, the only thing associated with his name was pain.

Hera had accepted that the pain of losing him would always be there, and there was nothing she could do about it except acknowledge its existence and deal.

Dracula had scarred her for life, and for the first time ever, Hera came to understand the phrase: some wounds never heal.

She would continue on her own for the next seven years, until a doctor from a hospital in Lancaster called to inform her that her father had suffered a heart-attack. Although he had survived and was making a full recovery, the prospect of losing the only person in the world she truly cared about shook the woman to her very core.

It was the first time since his daughter's mysterious accident that Henry Garret had seen Hera cry. He insisted that he was fine, but by the weekend, Hera had moved back home to the family estate. Although on the surface, she appeared to only wish to take care of him, underneath, now more than ever, did she desire to heal the bond between them, the one she had injured by keeping her only family at arm's length.

As all things do, it took a little bit of time for Hera to heal and nurture her relationship with her aging father, but by the close of winter, things were better than they had been in a long time.

The year was 2022 in the mid-spring months when Hera was found walking the grounds of her family's estate, just as she always did every morning, only this time she wasn't alone. Richard Grayson, a man in his prime and heir to a beautiful piece of property in upper Durham was accompanying her. The aged canine, Isis, who still didn't take kindly to strange men in her mistress' company, had been left inside.

Mr. Grayson had become a rather close friend of Hera's over the past three years ever since they had met at a conference in Brighton. Hailey Stevens had chosen to leave the country after what happened to Hera, weary with all the negative speculation that had been aimed in her direction. Hailey's parting had been a tear-filled one, and though the women continued to keep in touch online, it had left Hera dreadfully alone.

But after she had made Richard's acquaintance, and the had bonded over a three-hour debate of Russian literature and some Cabernet Sauvignon, she had finally found someone to spend her long days with outside of academic colleagues and her father.

Richard proved to be a wonderful distraction from her painful past. He was charming, intelligent, gentle, and extremely patient – something Hera found herself grateful for on a regular basis.

On this particular morning, he had stopped by to visit before heading back to his home in Lancaster on his drive down from Scotland. Since the weather was relatively decent, Hera had suggested he join her on her regular walk about the grounds.

"So, I hear your father is heading to Prague for a conference at the university," he said.

"Yes. He leaves in two weeks. He'll be gone for about a month or so."

"Do you intend on accompanying him?" he inquired, trying to be as nonchalant as humanly possible.

"No, I am not. He won't have me – says he doesn't need a babysitter anymore," she replied, smiling to herself as she looked at the ground momentarily. She glanced up to see Richard blushing, his dark chocolate colored eyes very interested in the grass beneath him. "Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity," he answered after clearing his throat.

Hera resisted the urge to chuckle and just continued to smile instead, smacking her lips together in mock thoughtfulness.

"Ah. Curiosity…. I understand it killed a cat once," she teased, adding a bit of relief to the tension and the two of them laughed. After it ceased, Richard replied:

"You're an intelligent woman, Hera. I'm certain you haven't fallen for that answer."

"I'd have to be rather hopeless to have fallen for it," she chuckled, and then she became serious. "How long, Richard?"

He decided to hope for the best and pretend she was a lot stupider than she really was.

"How long what?"

Well, he asked for it, she thought to herself.

"Let's not play the pronoun game. Tell me how long you've had feelings for me."

"That's awfully direct of you."

"I've learned that subtlety has a tendency of leaving people in the dark, giving one the opportunity to make assumptions; assumptions, which I'm sure you'll concur, are often far from the original truth."

"The simple version, Hera," he smiled.

"Very well. Don't mislead people, Richard. And don't give them reason to false hope. It's rude. If you think or feel something, communicate it. Don't be silent. There, is that basic enough for you?" she said.

"Yes, thank you."

"Now then… my original question still needs answering," she cued.

It took him a moment or two, but after raking his long fingers through his fairly thick, light brown hair, he replied:

"I like you, Hera," was his answer, although he didn't look into her eyes when he said it. "Ever since I met you, I've liked you. You're modest, despite all of your gifts and accomplishments, and your humility is something I admire most in you. That, and you're…" he paused for a moment and stopped walking, watching as Hera continued on for a few more paces before stopping as well, looking back at him.

"Go on," she said, gently encouraging him.

A soft gust of wind blew through the trees and through Hera's hair, adding a lovely effect to her already radiant visage. Richard's smile faded into awe.

"You're beautiful, Hera. Forgive me for my unoriginality, but you are."

Hera felt a strange sensation in her chest—part of it was joy, excitement.

Was she finally able to move on?

And then, as it usually did, it hit her.

That pain… that unbearable pain.

She pleaded with her heart to stop this nonsense.

She didn't love Count Dra—no, she didn't love _him_ anymore. It had been years since she had seen him! He had betrayed her! Used her! No… her heart was no longer his!

Besides, Richard was a respectable man, attractive, intelligent, well off… he'd love her till the end of her days and then some, she was certain of it.

Yet still, after all this time when she had thought she had let go…

"You're so gentle, so strong," he continued, having moved forward now. He reached for her face and gently brushed her cheek with his fingers. "There's a deep sadness in your eyes, a horrible pain and I want more than anything to take that pain away."

She knew he was sincere, but she couldn't.

God, did she wish she could love him, give him what he deserved.

"I'm… I'm in love with you, Hera Garret," and then the invisible dagger was plunged into her heart. "I think I've been in love with you for some time now." He took her hand in his, taking the subtle welling of tears in her eyes as a good sign. Oh how naïve he was. "I—I know you've been hurt in the past, but I hope that I can help you forget all of that. I want to be with you, Hera. If you're willing, I'd like to take this friendship of ours to the next level. I'd like to date you – formally. Officially. Maybe even something more in the future, when you're ready… and _only_ when you're ready."

She clenched her eyes shut and covered her mouth in an effort to suppress a sob.

This wasn't happening… it couldn't be happening!

Oh, but it was.

Here was an amazing man actually asking for permission to be in a relationship with her, and all she could think about was _him!_ Count Dracula! It made her sick, not only with the vampire, but most of all with herself. She had been so certain that he was out of her life, out of her system, out of her head and her heart, and here was the proof that she hadn't gotten over him.

She hated herself for this, more than anything.

"Hera, please say something. You're making me nervous," Richard interrupted, hardly aware of the war that was going on inside her head.

She needed to move on from Vladislaus… maybe this was the only way? If she forced herself into this relationship, despite her still existent feelings for the vampire, perhaps she could finally recover?

It was worth a shot, and poor Richard was in love with her. It was so plain to see. The look in his eyes reminded her of the way Dracula had looked at her when he had told her he loved her. It made the pain almost unbearable, but she managed a smile and forced herself to laugh through her tears to ease the tension that had grown between them.

"Oh, Richard," she cried softly. "God, you've totally unraveled me," and she quickly wiped her tears from her face, regaining her composure, trying her best to ignore that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"I'm sorry to do so," he said, wiping another tear from her cheek with his thumb before guiding her gaze toward his.

"Don't be," she whispered, smiling just for him. "It's quite alright."

"Well?" he cued.

She took a deep breath.

"Richard, I'd love to try this whole relationship thing with you," she replied in a certainly less dignified way than she had intended. Luckily, he was sympathetic and hardly cared anyway because she had said yes. "However, I must ask… are you sure you want to do this? I can be rather…well, irritating. A handful actually. I like my independence and you know how bad my temper is."

He joyously kissed her knuckles and it nearly broke what was left of her heart.

"Hera, you have made me the happiest man alive!" he exclaimed.

She laughed, but behind her smile she felt nauseous—all she could see in her head was the Count. Oh, how she wished she could just rip that vampire out of her for good!

Alzheimer's sounded _really_ nice right about now.

Or just plain-old amnesia would suffice.

"That's what they all say," she teased as he pulled her into his arms and held her close, hugging her tightly. They spent the next few moments not saying anything, until the silence became a little awkward.

"So…what now?"

"Well, typically you'd plan a date or something," she suggested.

"Oh… right," he blushed. "Sorry, I haven't done this in a while."

"It's alright. I haven't either. We'll be rusty together."

"How does dinner sound?"

"I can't really go out and do anything until my father leaves for Prague. Until then, I'm stuck at home helping him get ready."

"Can I call you later then?"

She smiled.

"I'd like that."

"Alright then."

* * *

Professor Henry Garret walked about the busy room, watching his colleagues and friends all associate with one another: old and new faces, the majority of them men.

How he wished Hera had joined him on this excursion. She would have enjoyed the conference, the conversations and intellectual debates. If he hadn't been so stubborn on proving to her that he could travel on his own, his daughter would have outshone them all.

The elderly gentleman sighed to himself as he glanced down at his glass of brandy.

So much had changed about his Hera over the past seven years, and the root cause of it all still baffled him. She had become overly obsessed with keeping herself busy at all costs, even now that she was home again. Before, she was all academics and lectures and feminism; and though she had toned down considerably since his heart-attack, she still wasn't the same as she was before.

After she had finished her musical tour, she never touched the piano again.

All she ever did was read and study and debate: and what baffled him most was how his daughter had developed a thick, staunch feminist streak in her all of a sudden – to the point of being abrasive, as if she were on a personal vendetta in an effort to assuage some unresolved feelings he could not begin to comprehend.

If provoked, his daughter would rant rather passionately about how men treated women as objects or means to an end for centuries, how they were never taken seriously, how it was men who caused wars, how men and their fatal flaws led to the downfalls of so many others, how it was men and their vain ambitions that had destroyed the great empires of the past – the Greeks, Romans, Persians, Ottomans, and even the British.

In the past, she argued using simply fact and reason. Now she spoke more like a woman scorned than an objective scholar.

Mr. Garret chuckled to himself as he took a sip of his brandy, deciding that perhaps given the discussions of today's conference, it was probably best that he hadn't brought Hera along after all. She probably would have started a fight with one half and offended the rest.

With a heavy sigh, he decided to take a turn about the large room, half-heartedly studying some of the paintings and tapestries on the walls as his thoughts continued to linger on his baffling daughter.

He had left her with that Richard Grayson fellow back at home.

Henry smiled slightly to himself.

Now there was a good fellow. Not exactly what he had dreamed up as worthy for his Hera, but the man had his head screwed on nice and straight. He was certain Richard could make Hera happy if she let him. After all, she was already thirty-three, coming up on thirty-four, and still unattached. He secretly hoped that the circumstances would be different by the time he arrived home next week.

Diverting his gaze away from the painting in front of him, he turned to his left to proceed when he noticed a very dark looking man standing just a few feet away from him, examining an enlarged, life-sized granite replica of Auguste Rodin's statue: _The Kiss_.

The man appeared to be in his late thirties, early forties at most, though despite his robust youth, he had a look of ancientness about him. With his tastefully long, dark hair, which was pulled back, he looked distinctly foreign. His exquisitely tailored suit and sharp, crisp appearance made it evident that this was no ordinary man of the non-English variety. He appeared distinctly noble, with his handsome face and brilliantly blue eyes that studied the statue in front of him, yet his gaze seemed almost distant, as if he were remembering something.

Intrigued by the stranger, Henry made his way over to the statue, standing a foot or so from the man himself, deciding to study it with him.

"Beautiful replica, don't you think?" he inquired in an attempt at idle small talk.

The dark man was kind enough to oblige him.

"Very. Although, I confess, I prefer the bronze version of the statue."

The stranger's voice was rich, deep, and very smooth, his words and articulations: precise. And Romanian – or perhaps Hungarian? Henry couldn't be certain.

"Is that so?" Mr. Garret asked. "Any reason for the preference?"

The stranger shrugged idly and took a sip from his glass.

"None in particular," he then looked over at Henry, a sly grin curving his lips. "It's just a preference."

Henry had no idea why, but he laughed.

"I see."

His laughter soon died away and he found himself feeling like a complete idiot. But the stranger remained poised and civil. He even held out his hand.

"Vlad Drăculești, Mr…?" Henry's eyes widened.

"Henry Garret. Did you say Drăculești?"

"Yes I did," Mr. Drăculești stated. "I'm one of the last direct descendants of the rather notorious Count Dracula, more historically known as Vlad Țepeș."

"Yes, I know very well who your ancestor is," Henry exclaimed. "My daughter used to be obsessed with Count Dracula. Actually, several years ago, she had been in the middle of writing a book on the man himself, but she gave it up after some time."

"I can understand her frustration," the man sympathized. "My ancestor's history is so obscured; it's hard to separate fact and fiction."

"Indeed it is," and he took another drink. "So, what brings you to this little conference in Prague then, Mr. Drăculești?"

"Please, call me Vlad. Actually, my story is not very interesting. I used to be in business, dabbling a bit in some behind-the-scenes political work, various enterprises and what not, but I decided a few years ago that it was no longer for me. That entire culture is so underhanded and cut-throat and I wanted to leave it while I still had some semblance of a soul left," he said with a smile, pleased when Henry chuckled at his joke.

"Understandable."

"So I've been living off of my earnings from a variety of capital ventures I made when I was younger and have been spending the rest of my time pursuing my real passions – history happens to be one of them," he answered confidently.

"I see. Do you prefer a certain civilization in particular? I'm sure your ancestry must fascinate you a great deal."

"I'm not particularly drawn to any specific region or time. I find it all rather fascinating: Asian, African, South American, European, the states… Naturally, I suppose I am a bit partial when it comes to my homeland, but I've been studying the cultures of Asia recently. I just returned from a trip to Shanghai."

"How fascinating! I personally love China. Its history, the culture… I've wanted to go on another trip down there with my daughter, but she prefers Europe. The whole continent, I suppose you could say, is her home away from home."

"This is the same daughter who was writing a book on my ancestor?" he clarified.

"Yes, the very same."

The break in the conversation gave Vlad a moment to think. That was a peculiar coincidence… _Garret_.

The name brought back painful memories, which he suppressed immediately. Hera looked nothing like the man in front of him and Garret was, after all, a very popular surname. He wracked his brain to see if he could recall a Henry Garret or at least a man with his face, but none came – he hated how he couldn't recall things like he used to. Such an inconvenience.

The silence continued and Vlad didn't seem to notice it, too lost in his thoughts, but since Henry was still deeply intrigued by the stranger in front of him, he then asked:

"So Transylvania covers much of Hungary and Romania? In which country do you reside?"

"Both, actually. I have a home in the mountains outside of a little nameless village where I grew up, and then I own a modest estate just outside of Budapest. Both part of my inheritance."

"Delightful."

"And you Mr. Garret? You sound English, but I think I'm noting a hint of French in your accent."

Henry chuckled, clearly impressed.

"Well done! I was born English, but spent a good many years in France before my wife passed away."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you."

And there was that silence again.

Henry couldn't understand why, but when weren't talking, he felt intimidated by this Vlad Drăculești. No, perhaps it wasn't intimidation, but a deep sense of respect? But how could that be, considering the fact that he had only just met the man?

He mentally shrugged it off.

After a time of idle conversation, Henry discovered Vlad's company to be most agreeable. The man was pleasant, intelligent, and his direct relation to Count Dracula was an incredible find in his mind.

A pity the two gentlemen would remain ignorant of who the other truly was for the time being.

"Professor Garret…"

"Henry, please."

"Henry, would you care to join me for dinner this evening? I assume you traveled alone, as did I, and I would be honored to share your company."

"Of course! You are very kind. You don't mind if I ask you about your trip and findings in Shanghai?"

"I'd be offended if you didn't ask me," he teased. "It would be my pleasure."

Dinner proved to be quite the event.

They met in one of the nicer restaurants a block from Henry's hotel and despite the difference in age, they talked as if they were old friends.

Henry came to find out that this Vlad Drăculești was disgustingly wealthy – a decent portion of his fortune being was inherited, but much of it had been earned via incredibly wise and profitable investments – stock holdings in companies like Google and Apple just before they took off were just a few he had modestly mentioned. The man was also clever, insightful, had an excellent sense of humor.

Despite the man's apparent youth, Henry was unable to shake the feeling that Vlad in many ways was ancient. He spoke of certain histories and cultures with a level of detail that could only be provided had a person experienced the events first hand. His manners, sensibilities, and tastes were also fairly old-fashioned as well. It was clear he was well-bred and always in control.

They shared the stories of their travels, discussing and debating, and by the end of the evening, they had made plans to attend tomorrow's sessions of the conference together. For the remainder of Henry's two weeks in Prague, he spent much of his time with Vlad and not once did he ever mention his daughter by name, which naturally left his new friend in the dark in regards to who he truly was, that this strange coincidence was in fact much more than a coincidence.

By the end of the two weeks, Henry had extended an invitation for Vlad to have dinner at his home at some time in the near future, whenever his schedule would permit.

Naturally, thinking nothing of it, Dracula accepted the invitation.

The two of them eventually decided on a date, making sure it correlated with some business the Count had to oversee in Leeds in the following month.

With the engagement set and the promise made, the two gentlemen said their goodbyes, and Henry returned home, having no idea that the events he had just accidentally set in motion would change everything for not only himself, but more importantly, for his beloved daughter.

* * *

 **Hey! So before you run off, I wanted to ask you guys something. So** _bloodyrose2014_ **asked me a really great question and that was if I could pick an actress to play or portray Hera, who would I choose?**

 **Well, let me tell you, I have scoured the internet looking for the face that I envision in my head when I think of our heroine and I haven't come across a perfect fit yet. There have been a few actresses and singers and models who have certain elements I like, but not a single person who embodies Hera for me.**

 **So I'd like to put the question to you guys - is there a real-life person who you imagine as Hera? I'd love to hear your thoughts!**


	55. When Paths Converge

**Many thanks to** Madam Silver **,** the invisible reader **,** BornRose2 **,** Scarlet Empress **,** She-Devil Red **,** alexc1209 **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** Kiriari **,** Nyx-Arae **,** ShadowSpade **,** ForsakenStar22 **,** 12345678910 **,** Bloodsired **, and** ForeverACharmedOne **for reviewing chapter 54 yesterday! Your positivity helped get me through an extremely difficult day and I can't thank you enough.**

 **This one is for you.**

* * *

 **LV**

 _ **When Paths Converge**_

England.

He hadn't been here in what felt like years.

No. He really _hadn't_ been here in years. Six or seven, he could hardly be certain any more. Time, although it had flown him by, took ages to pass, like sap on a winter's morning.

Typically when Dracula traveled, he had grown accustomed to just focusing on getting off the plane and into the terminal, finding his luggage, renting a car, locating his hotel—the usual. But considering his current location, he seemed to be lost in some kind of a daze, walking as if his legs knew exactly where he needed to go, his hands reaching for his luggage almost instinctively from the baggage claim as he continued to look around—cautiously almost.

He was taking a huge risk in coming here. But considering that Henry Garret —one of the most cordial and intelligent men he had ever met—had invited him to visit, and given the fact that running into _her_ wasn't really even all that likely, Dracula had accepted the invitation like the gentleman he was.

Yes, he was running a risk. He'd just have to be extra careful, that was all.

After finding his rental car—a sporty looking black Aston Martin that got him some attention—he placed his luggage into the trunk and pulled out his directions so he could find the hotel in town that he was planning on staying in. He hated how he was being forced to rely on the directions of men to find his way around when in the past it had been so easy to just materialize to his destination, better yet fly. After inputting the coordinates into his GPS, he started the engine.

Maybe he shouldn't have come here.

Perhaps he was making a mistake.

It was rather selfish of him, being so willing to put her life on the line, despite how innocent the whole situation really was. It wasn't like he could stay out of England forever.

The drive to the hotel was rather uneventful, and the journey into the countryside even more so.

A Chopin ballade played from his mobile phone, which was hooked up to the stereo, the lilting sound of the piano solo serving as a soothing score while the world blurred by him as he drove.

The music sent him reminiscing—recalling what it was like to watch his Hera play, how her brow furrowed in absolute concentration as her fingers flew over the keys, and then relaxing as the melody would move into grand sweeps of emotion and elegance – like a dance.

He missed the private concerts, those nights she'd play in the enchanted ballroom of Castle Dracula when she thought she was alone – or better yet, the night he had found her in the ballroom of Vilkova… and then the way they made deep and passionate love that morning as the house slept and the sun rose. If he focused hard enough, he could still imagine her fingers on his skin – each touch, caress, and stroke earning different, yet calculated reactions.

With a heavy sigh, he leaned back into the seat, his elbow resting on the ledge of the open window as the damp, English summer air blew idly through his hair.

Oh, what a hopeless cause he had become.

After all this time, he still ached for her, and the music only seemed to make it worse. As the gorgeous countryside passed him by, he became more and more dissatisfied with what he saw – though perhaps that was because this was Hera's country, her home, and knowing this served as his irritating reminder that he would never see her again.

As much as he enjoyed Sir Henry Garret's company, he certainly hoped that the following two weeks would be over quickly. He had only been in England for a short time now, and already he wanted to leave.

* * *

Anger—no, frustration seemed like a more appropriate term for what she was feeling.

Frustration.

Although the maid's intentions on cleaning her bedroom had been good and she deserved no chastisement for doing her job thoroughly, Hera could no longer find a bloody thing. She had had a system, a method to the disorderly chaos her room had been in, and now that François' wife—Jonnie—had unintentionally destroyed that system, Hera was left with no other option than to tear the place apart.

Then she heard the door open.

"Hera, what in God's name are you doing?" her father questioned, astonished at the state her room was now in. "It looks like a hurricane went through here." When she didn't respond, he inquired: "I thought Jonnie had cleaned this place up for you just a few hours ago? Though quite honestly I don't understand why that saint of a woman insists on cleaning up after you. You're not a child anymore, you know."

"I can't fucking find it!" Hera muttered angrily under her breath, pushing Isis out of the way when the dog started to rummage through her clothes with its nose. The canine took the hint and leapt up onto the bed, eyes observing as her mistress moved agitatedly about the room.

"Hera, language," Henry warned.

"Sorry."

"What are you looking for, my dear? And do you have to tear your room to pieces like this? For heaven's sake, what are you? Twelve? This is unacceptable!"

Hera had to smile at that one, although her frustration hadn't faltered for a moment.

"I may get older, but my rebellious spirits will never die," she teased, opening a dresser drawer and practically pulling it out all the way. She scooped up the neatly folded contents and threw them on the floor, continuing to search frantically.

"Are you going to answer my original question?" Henry asked, exhaling loudly to illustrate his disapproval as she emptied out another drawer.

"What question?"

"The one where I asked you what you were looking for…" he cued.

"Nothing."

"What?"

"I'm looking for nothing. Just… gah!" and she slammed the last empty drawer shut in anger before kicking the dresser. "God damn it, where the bloody hell is it?!" she nearly screamed.

"Hera, what did I say about that kind of language in my house?"

"Don't you have a guest coming in less than an hour?" she snapped.

Henry would have rebuked her again, but he had learned that when she was this agitated, it was pointless to argue with her. So he just pointed at her, motioned at her bedroom and said:

"This place better be clean before Jonnie sees it. Do you understand?"

"Yes _sir_ ," she muttered from behind clenched teeth as she turned to head to her walk-in closet.

Defeated, although he refused to show it, Henry exited from the room after summoning Isis who followed reluctantly behind, only to situate herself outside of Hera's door after it was shut behind them.

Henry Garret sighed heavily as he eyed the animal with a sad smile.

"We're getting too old for this, girl," he told the dog, the canine resting her head on her paws as though waiting for Hera to emerge, leaving Henry to wander down the hall alone.

He needed to get that woman a husband and a house of her own and soon. Although Henry understood that Hera stayed because she worried about him, his only child was pushing thirty-four. If it were up to him, she'd be back living in the city, meeting people, not spending it in self-inflicted isolation.

Though his guest was maybe a good six or seven years her senior, he secretly hoped the two would hit it off. Henry Garret had his suspicions that the noble Vlad Drăculești was a better match for his Hera than that Richard Grayson fellow.

Meanwhile, Hera continued to tear her room apart, near tears as the panic set in. Her old iPod, the thing that kept her sane, that insipid device with all the memories and nostalgia attached to it —she couldn't find it, and the harder she looked, the more worried she became. She was on the brink of hysterics when at last, she found it. Hidden between the mattresses of her bed, enclosed in a worn, velvet red journal was her iPod.

Clenching it in her hand tightly and kissing it as a single tear trailed down her cheek, Hera knelt on the floor, the alarm and irritation of earlier slowly ebbing away. The silence of the room surrounded her to the point where all she could hear was her own breathing. Finally gaining a hold over herself, she relaxed her hand and kissed the device almost pathetically, soon taking a glance at the book it had been placed within.

Her heart got caught in her throat as her eyes fell over the journal. Within, she had documented her entire experience of what had happened nearly eight years ago: Transylvania, the Valerious family, Van Helsing, werewolves, monsters, vampires… Dracula.

The last name made her cringe visibly in the solitude of her room. Unwilling to revisit the pain, she violently shoved the memories back down, looking at the small journal with a sense of fear, apprehension.

Timidly, she reached for the dusty book, tempted to run her fingers over the smooth pages, to feel the imprints of each written word, the dried stains from her tears. But before she could surrender to the pull of the past, she shoved the journal into the drawer of her nightstand and climbed to her feet.

She did not wish to revisit that chapter of her life.

Not now and not ever.

* * *

The house was certainly handsome, Dracula thought to himself as he drove up the gravel driveway and through the second set of gates, circling the gorgeous fountain in the front before finally parking the car to the side, near the front door. The estate itself was incredible with some of the most perfectly kept grounds he had seen in sometime. Shoving the keys into his pocket, he fixed the collar of his jacket before proceeding towards the front steps, taking them two at a time before reaching the door and ringing the bell.

The butler answered.

Clearly the man was French, the accent outrageous, and he suppressed a chuckle as he entered into the house. Instinctively, his mouth rambled about how Professor Henry Garret was expecting him, his tongue acting as if it were on autopilot while his eyes traveled about the main foyer, taking in the classic sophistication of the beautifully decorated room. The butler excused himself after showing him into the parlor, leaving him to idly admire the paintings and various items of decor.

"Vlad! What a pleasure it is to see you again," came the aged man's voice from the doorway. Dracula turned and offered a smile.

"I made a promise, Henry, and I am a man of my word."

"Of course, of course," Mr. Garret smiled, moving his hand as if shooing away the explanation. "So, how was your trip? When did you arrive in England?"

"Early this morning, actually."

"This morning? Why on earth didn't you tell me? I thought you had been here for at least a day or two! I never would have made you drive all the way out here from Heathrow on your first day!"

"It's nothing, truly. Though a bit of a lengthy drive, the quiet was nice and the scenery pleasant. My hotel is only in Leeds, so it's not the worst stint I've undertaken. Please, don't trouble yourself on my behalf. I'm a well-experienced traveler."

"Well, despite your insistence," Henry teased, earning a chuckle from the "young" man, "I do apologize. I'll have to ask my cook to whip up something extra special for dessert as my attempt to make up for the inconvenience."

"It really was no inconvenience, honestly."

"Well, nonetheless, I look forward to dining with you this evening." Dracula nodded his consent, but otherwise remained silent on the matter. "Now then, something to drink. Tea? Or perhaps something stronger? I have some whiskey in here. But I think bourbon would suit the occasion better, don't you think?"

"Either will work for me."

"You don't need to always be so accommodating you know. Let's do the bourbon. I'll have François fetch it from the cellar while I go grab a couple of those artifacts you had expressed such an interest in. Make yourself at home, I'll be right back."

Dracula stood in the center of the room for a moment or two before moving over to the sofa to sit. As he made himself more comfortable, he was greeted by a large, black dog that entered the room, the beast eyeing him with curiosity. The Count remained in his seat, though he extended his hand in offering to what he assumed was the family pet and to his surprise, the animal approached obediently.

Isis sniffed the stranger's hand, licked his fingers once, and then pressed her head underneath his palm and Dracula took that as a sign of approval. As he idly stroked the dense fur coat of the handsome dog, he soon heard something that made him freeze in place.

"Papa?"

The Count's eyes widened and Isis' ears perked up.

"No," he whispered. It couldn't be!

"Papa? Where are you?"

Dracula could feel all the blood draining from his face as he recognized the voice. He'd know it anywhere. It had haunted his thoughts, his dreams, and nearly every waking moment for over a century now.

No, it couldn't be!

But it was.

Hera.

But how? He had been so careful!

Dracula stood suddenly to the confusion of Isis, who whined at his absence.

"Father? – I swear to God, the man is going deaf – François?"

Dracula swore softly under his breath as he quickly made his way for the door to the parlor.

"François, do you know where my father is?"

"I believe he's in the parlor with that historian guest of his."

"Thanks… _Henry_!"

Dracula removed his hand from the doorknob and wished in this moment that he could vanish into thin air. But he couldn't… and her voice was getting closer. Noticing another door at the end of the room, he bolted for it as silently as he could and slipped through into the adjoining room just as the other opened.

"Isis, what are you doing in here all alone?" Hera asked the dog before noticing that the canine's eyes were fixed on the door on the other side of the chamber. She heard the knob click as it finished closing and her eyes narrowed.

"Father, wait! I need to talk to you!" she called.

Isis barked once, trailing behind the woman as she marched across the room.

Dracula, meanwhile, slipped out of the room he had just entered just as Hera opened the other door. He quickly found himself in the hall that led to the main foyer and he walked briskly for the front entrance.

This wasn't happening… he couldn't let her see him… he shouldn't have come here.

He grabbed a card with the hotel's name and his room and mobile number from his pocket, sliding it onto a nearby table as he reached for the front door when he heard the door he had just shut open and Isis ran out into the foyer ahead of her mistress, barking after him.

"Henry Garret, for the love of God, would you just…" Hera's speech came to an abrupt halt, as did the Count's movements when she had spoken. He could feel her eyes on him, her gaze burning a hole through the back of his head.

"No God, please don't," Dracula mouthed inaudibly to himself. "I didn't know… it was an accident…"

The sound of the woman's voice made him stop.

"No…" Hera whispered. "It can't be."

He could no longer keep his back to her.

He had to turn around, even though all reason told him not to, the temptation was too much.

Hearing her voice, being in the same room as her.

Dracula turned slowly, eyes closed and head down until he had pivoted completely. Lifting his head, he allowed his gaze to fall upon her. His heart got caught in his throat as he took her in, unsure of what to do, let alone what to say.

They stood there for what felt like hours, just staring at each other, never uttering a word.

He had no idea what she was thinking, what she was feeling right now. All he knew was that Hera Garret had never looked more beautiful to him in all his life.

The woman had changed so much since he had seen her last, and certainly for the better. She had thinned out, though proportionally her curves were just as he liked them. Her skin appeared smooth, complexion unblemished, and her hair – which was now its natural color again – had a soft wave to it that he found irresistible.

She was stunning.

But his notations of her physical appearance ended quickly when his eyes met hers, and all he could do was stare, a million emotions and memories sweeping over him.

And so they stood there – mute and unflinching.

Hera hardly knew where to begin when it came to what to think, feel, or say. It had been years since she had seen his face… his eyes.

They were still the same: that gorgeous frosty blue—the color so intense, she could see it from across the room where she was standing. His hair was still dark and silky, and though still technically on the longer side, he had had it cut and styled a little differently than what she was accustomed to.

The only notable change in him outside of his hair were his clothes. Instead of the black military-styled outfit she had been so used to seeing him in, he was wearing a dark grey suit, with a crisp white shirt and thin black tie – everything tailored to perfection.

He looked amazing.

This had to be a dream.

"Hello, Hera," he said gently, nodding his head to her, the movement nearly unnoticeable.

No, she wasn't dreaming.

This was real.

He was really here, standing in front of her.

And before she could rejoice in the fact that she was actually seeing him for the first time in years, the pain stole her breath, crushing her like a tidal wave, smacking her back with full force to the point where she had to reach out for the railing of the stairs to keep on her feet.

She blanched and he watched in disappointment as her eyes seemed to dull at the very sight of him.

"Why?" was all she could think to say.

The agony in her voice was unmistakable.

She wanted to cry – more than anything she just wanted to fall to the floor and weep, but she had cried a lifetime of tears for this man and had sworn long ago that she would never shed another tear for him.

Before Dracula could even begin to answer her question, Henry entered the foyer, oblivious to what was passing between his friend and his daughter. Isis continued to stand between the two, looking back and forth curiously between her mistress and the stranger, not quite sure what to make of the tension between them.

"Ah, there you are!" Henry exclaimed. "I was wondering where you had gone off. And I see you've met my daughter. Hera, this is that gentleman I was telling you about… the one I had met at the conference in Prague some weeks ago. This is Vlad Drăculești."

* * *

 **Feedback and/or predictions would be most welcome! Next chapter goes up tomorrow. Thanks for stopping by!**

 **\- T**


	56. I Did It for You

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 **Now then, enjoy the drama... and remember, it won't last forever. ;)**

* * *

 **LVI**

 _ **I Did It for You**_

Hera felt sick.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to cry.

She wanted to close her eyes and then open them again to find that he really wasn't here.

But he was here.

He was still standing there, his posture perfect, confident; and his face: completely unreadable.

"Hera…" her father cued.

Snapping herself out of the stupor she had been put in, the woman made a strong attempt to appear as normal as she could, as to not raise any suspicions, particularly that of her father.

"It's a…a…"

Should she say pleasure? No. She wasn't _pleased_ to see him at all. And she certainly wasn't _honored_ to be in his presence. In fact, the longer she stood here in the same room as him, the quicker her pain turned into anger.

"You met each other in Prague?"

Yes… asking a question was better than lying. She could think of nothing nice to say to him right now, but that didn't mean she couldn't be civil.

"Yes. We did," the Count answered, appearing to be the most uncomfortable in the room.

"How… fascinating," Hera managed, trying her best not to sound sarcastic.

But it wasn't working.

Her father sent her a look, and though deeply unnerved, Dracula couldn't take his eyes off of her.

"Mr. Drăculești," Henry continued, "is one of the last direct descendants of _the_ Count Dracula… Vlad Țepeș. You know… that historical figure you were so obsessed with all those years ago."

Hera scowled at her father, not liking the faint hint of smug pleasure that had just appeared on the Count's face.

"I wasn't obsessed," she hissed softly, fighting to stay in control. She wouldn't embarrass her father, but that didn't mean he could embarrass her, as unintentional as it may have been.

"I had just told Vlad, the last time we met, how you had been writing that book on the man, and how you had been having difficulty deciphering legend and myth from fact and history."

"Yes, I did have that problem," Hera answered, a bit more curtly than she had meant to.

Luckily, her father wasn't picking up on any of this, but Dracula was. Hera was terribly uneasy. It was all over her face and in the tone of her voice.

"Perhaps you could clear up some of that for her, Vlad," Henry suggested. "I'm sure you're quite the expert on your ancestor. Perhaps the two of you could spend some time with one another, maybe put your heads together and decipher fact from fiction!"

Hera stiffened at the proposal and looked horrified as she glanced over at the vampire who had ruined her life.

Her father was trying to set her up with him!

She wasn't sure she could endure this.

"I believe I must go," Dracula suddenly blurted out as if he had read her thoughts.

"Whatever for? You've only just arrived!"

"I'm afraid my timing is rather ill, Henry. Perhaps I can come at another time."

"But you said you'd stay for dinner."

"You _what_?!" Hera snapped, hardly able to contain herself another moment longer, her outburst startling Isis who moved over to stand beside the Count.

"I did, and I beg you to let me postpone that pleasure."

"I most certainly will not," Henry insisted with a friendly smile, despite his stubborn persistence. "Really Vlad, what could possibly persuade you to leave?"

The Count made eye-contact with Hera and felt his heart break.

He couldn't make this more difficult for her, let alone himself. But Henry was being so persistent and he _had_ given his word to stay. So very reluctantly, he nodded his head to the elderly man and managed a smile.

"Very well, Henry. I gave you my word and said I would join you for dinner. And so I shall."

His gaze moved back to Hera, expression full of apology, but she was so hard to read right now. He used to be able to see right through her, but he could tell just by looking at her that she had constructed some very firm and strategically placed walls around her heart and soul over the years and he had no hope of deciphering her feelings in that moment.

What he could figure though was the following: she was in pain. It was all over her face. The color of her eyes, which had once been so bright, so vibrant and full of life, had dulled almost dramatically. The thought as to why made him sick with his guilt.

"Excellent," Henry exclaimed in response to the Count's answer. "I was just told by our housekeeper that dinner will be served in less than an hour. I hope you don't mind. I've always preferred earlier meals. Why don't you join me in my study in the mean time?"

Dracula nodded his head, but said nothing, following after Henry who started to lead the way up the stairs.

"Isis, stay with Hera," Henry commanded when they reached the top of the stairs, but the dog continued to trail after Dracula, tail wagging behind her.

Father and daughter exchanged bewildered glances.

"That's most peculiar."

"What is?" the Count inquired.

"Isis usually doesn't take well to strangers, especially men. I think you have an admirer, my friend!" the older man said with a laugh as Isis pressed her head beneath Dracula's hand and the Count idly scratched the canine behind the ears.

Hera, aggravated by the vampire's presence and bewildered by her trusty pet's blatant treachery, quietly exited from the room without so much as a word, leaving the men to continue upstairs and down a hall with the canine following close behind.

The next hour passed by slowly and each minute was torture for Dracula.

Yes, the Count enjoyed Henry's company and found his books and artifacts fascinating, but he was practically counting down the seconds until dinner, longing to see Hera, praying to God that he'd get at least five minutes alone with her so they could talk. He had to know if she was all right, although if he hadn't been in denial, he'd have realized him being in her house as her father's new best friend certainly wasn't helping her in the slightest.

At last, the hour ended, and François entered the study to announce that dinner was being served. Henry continued to ramble on about some topic or another as he led the way down stairs to the dining room.

Dracula remained silent during much of the time, putting in a few conversational bits here and there, but other than that, he was quiet. He found himself a little disappointed to see that Hera wasn't already in the dining room waiting for them.

"François, where is Hera?" Henry asked after finally taking note of his daughter's absence.

As if on cue, she entered the room, no alteration to her dress, although she looked a little paler than she had been an hour ago. She refused to make eye contact with the Count. Instead, she walked quickly into the room and took her seat at her father's right, eyes cast downward.

"Mon enfant, is everything alright?"

"I'm fine, father," she whispered softly, looking up at him and offering him what smile she could.

Despite her internal pleas, her eyes soon diverted to Dracula's, noting how he gazed intently at her, but never said a word.

Dinner was served and the duration of it was spent listening to Henry Garret rattle on about the Anglo-Saxons and all the fascinating artifacts he had collected and donated to museums over the years. The Count did his best to pay attention to his new friend, but the fact that the man's daughter was sitting just a few feet in front of him, hardly even touching her food….

After a while, the Count stopped listening all together.

All he could do was watch Hera, hundreds of memories swimming through his head:

Memories of her smiling, laughing; her beautifully sharp and attentive eyes; her opinions solid, her arguments brute, and her flirtations merciless.

He could barely recall how she tasted on his lips. It had been decades, but he could still vaguely remember: she was like sugared honey on his tongue: her mouth hot and wet, her kisses fervent, and with a passion that could never be matched.

He could, however, still recall with perfect clarity the way her flesh glistened and glowed in the pale moonlight of a darkened bedchamber, her soft body caressing against his like silk as her insides milked him like a…

Dracula shook himself from his thoughts when they went too far, nearly jumping at the sound of Henry's voice.

"Vlad, are you alright? You looked a bit lost for a moment there."

Dracula cleared his throat and offered a composed smile, hardly aware of the fact that his cheeks were lightly flushed.

"I apologize," he answered cordially, collecting himself. "I… I was lost in a memory for a moment. It had been something you said," and his eyes instinctively moved to Hera to catch her reaction.

She looked calm, but bewildered.

"Is that so?" Henry inquired, hardly aware of what was transpiring between his daughter and his guest; what _had_ transpired between them, once upon a time. "And what was this memory?" he asked, chuckling to himself almost mischievously.

Dracula continued to look at Hera from across the table, those sweet memories still lingering in his mind.

"Of someone I loved," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "A long time ago."

Hera immediately looked away.

Henry simply nodded, still completely oblivious.

"I don't know how the history of the Saxons brought on the memory of a loved one, but I suppose that is none of my business."

After dinner came tea and dessert, both of which Hera scarcely partook of. She tried to escape a few times, but was always asked to stay by the insistence of her father, and reluctantly she obeyed. She had no real excuse to leave, none that she could give her father anyway.

So she was forced to sit there, lingering in the Count's presence, catching him when he would stare at her for prolonged periods of time, her father totally ignorant of whom this man actually was.

He wasn't a descendant of Vlad Țepeș; he WAS Vlad Țepeș… _the_ Count Dracula.

After what felt like years, but had only been a few hours, Dracula finally persuaded Henry Garret that it was time for him to drive back to the city, offering every promise in the world to meet up with him later in the week. By this time, Hera's father had had a bit much to drink, and as Dracula stood up to leave, Henry had already begun to doze off in his chair by the fire, a slumbering Isis at his feet.

Hera sighed in relief and retreated immediately, disappearing without even offering a word to the Count, and he resisted the temptation to follow after her. Instead, he made his way into the foyer where François handed him his coat, biding him a good night and a safe drive back to his hotel.

By this time it was raining, a light drizzle. Popping his collar and pulling the coat tightly around his body, he made his way over to his Aston Martin to find Hera standing in front of the vehicle, the only article of clothing added to her person being a thin black cardigan. Although he was secretly relieved that she was seeking him out, the undeniable tension between them made him uneasy.

"Are you looking to catch your death or are you just taking a shower outdoors with your clothes on?" he asked, feebly attempting to be funny.

It would have earned at least a smile from anyone else, but Hera looked positively livid.

"What the hell were you thinking making friends with _my_ father?! Don't you think you've fucked up my life enough, you son of a bitch!" and she slapped him hard across the face.

Dracula took it like a man and remained silent, letting her unleash her anger on him.

He knew deep down that he had every right to make her stop, but he didn't. He had had over a century to prepare himself for this moment and although the agony in her expression tore him to ribbons, he knew she needed this as much as he did.

"What the hell is the matter with you?!" she screamed at him. "Haven't you ruined my life enough as it is?! You got me pregnant, you used me, you had the nerve to make me think you loved me only to leave me to die, and now after almost eight bloody years, right after I'm on the brink of moving on, you have the audacity to waltz back into my life and fuck everything up!"

"I never lied about my feelings for you," he began, the words soft and controlled, but she interrupted him.

"YES YOU DID!" she bawled, suddenly hysteric. "You _destroyed_ me, Vlad! You have no idea what it's been like, living day by day, hour by hour, just trying to make it through with my sanity! It's bad enough that the press rarely left me alone! It's bad enough that I'm too fucking scarred to live a normal life like everyone else in the word! You have no idea what it's like loathing you with every fiber of my being and aching for you at the same time! It's deplorable and humiliating, Vladislaus, _and I can't stand it_!"

He could hardly bear it, listening to her yelling at him. He hated hearing about how much she'd suffered, how she'd done it in silence when really she required someone to help her suffer through it and move on. She had needed him all along and he had remained in the shadows.

But it wasn't his fault!

He knew that, although she didn't. Still, the truth didn't make the guilt any easier to bear, and listening to her cry made tears of his own burn in his eyes.

"Why did you have to break me?" Hera sobbed pathetically, searching his face for an answer, but he was in shadow, making it difficult to properly look into his eyes.

She felt him reach for her hands and she made an attempt to recoil, but Dracula held her wrists, pinning her arms between the two of them, looking straight into her eyes, desperately trying to hide the bottled up emotions that were already leaking in streams down his chiseled face.

"I didn't mean to," he whispered.

When she tried to interject, he persisted.

"No, let me finish!" he shouted abruptly, and then he struggled to collect himself.

He needed so desperately to stay calm, but she made it so difficult. Everything about her made him antsy, impulsive.

"Hera, I know you've suffered. I know what you saw and what you believe, but it's not as it seems. You were misinformed. Yes, I originally intended to use you for purposes that I regret, but I never meant for it to go that far. My mistakes have haunted me for decades. You have lived with your pain for only eight years. I have endured mine for _over a_ _century_! You think I don't know what it's like trying to get through at least one hour at a time?! You think I don't know what it's like to have to suffer alone? I have suffered, Hera, more than you could _ever_ imagine! And it is all my own doing! I take full responsibility for what happened! But I loved you then and I have loved you still! God help me, I tried forgetting you, tried moving on, but I never could!"

"If you still loved me," she answered bitterly, her tone harsh and unforgiving, "then why didn't you come for me? Why is it that every night when I cried for you, when I screamed for you, you never came? WHY, VLADISLAUS?! WHY?"

"I COULDN'T! I was forbidden!"

"WHY?!"

"BECAUSE I LOVED YOU TOO MUCH TO HURT YOU ANY MORE!" he screamed, shaking furiously as he continued to hold her wrists.

Hera fell silent as she stared up at him, her eyes finally adjusting to the darkness, the dim lights of the driveway permitting her a better view of his face. What she saw made her silent.

He was crying.

"When they found you in your friend's apartment and took you to the hospital, I was there for every second of it. I watched them as they removed the stake from your body. I watched them slice into your womb to remove the child you killed, _our_ child. And I watched as you died and came back, hardly able to breathe in your own air. I couldn't bear it, Hera. And then to discover that even though your wound had stopped bleeding that you were on the brink of death, that the infant's blood had poisoned you and you were too weak to fight anymore… Hera, it nearly killed me, watching you suffer as you did. I wanted to hold you, wanted to heal you, but there was nothing I could do. You could never imagine how helpless I felt in that moment, thinking that I had lost you forever and that it was all _my_ fault."

He had long since released her wrists, now just standing before her, staring into her eyes as he let go, the tears falling freely and without control.

Hera was not only shocked, but confused.

"Why aren't your eyes glowing?" she whispered, mostly to herself as she reached up and brushed a single tear away from his face, her expression one of bewilderment. "Your eyes always glowed when your emotions were strong. Why aren't they now?"

Sniffing once and then clearing his throat, Dracula loosened the knot in his tie and then briskly undid the first four buttons of his collared shirt, revealing his smooth, sculpted chest. Her eyes widened and she took a step back, hardly knowing what to expect.

"What are you doing? Why are you taking your shirt off?" she asked him, panicking when he grabbed her hand without warning and started to move it towards his chest. "What are you doing? Let go of me! Let me…" and she stopped as soon as her palm fell over his left pectoral.

Hera's breath caught in her throat when she realized – something wasn't right. His skin felt unusually warm against her hand.

"What did you do?" she breathed inaudibly.

He maneuvered her hand more towards the center and then stopped when he saw her eyes widen considerably. Hera froze, staring intently at her significantly smaller hand, resting intimately over his heart.

It was beating.

Dracula… Vlad… he was alive.

But not just alive, he was a mortal. A _human_.

Hera felt her breath hitch and her own heart raced wildly in her chest as she felt the drumming in his chest beneath her palm. She felt his ribs expand and shrink with each breath he took in, her hand following with each inhale and exhale. After what felt like ages, she finally looked up at him, an unknown emotion etched on her face.

He didn't wait for her questions.

He only whispered as the tears continued to silently fall.

"I did it for you," he said, voice wavering with emotion. "I did it all for you."

Hera didn't know what to say.

Hera didn't know what to _do_.

Count Dracula had given up being a vampire… he had become a man, a mortal man… _for her?_

"I prayed to God," he said even softer, that sentence in itself the most shocking revelation of them all. "I asked him to save you, to heal you, and in return I was not to make contact with you and after seven years, I was to give up my life as a vampire and to live out the rest of my days as a mortal. I've been a human for the last six months."

He smiled through his tears and touched her face, watching as she briefly surrendered as if out of instinct and then she closed her eyes, relishing in the warmth of his hand.

"I have always loved you, Hera. Only ever you, I swear it. Please... believe in me as you once did."

She soaked in the feel of his hand on her face for a little longer than she felt she should have, and when she finally regained some of her control, she stepped away from him and his gentle caresses, removing her own hand from the warmth of his chest.

He gave up the one thing he loved more than life itself to save her life. He gave up being a vampire for _her_.

It was touching but it didn't remove the pain.

Hera was still stubborn and she had stopped putting her faith in people long ago. It was because of him that she had suffered as much as she had. It was because of him that she couldn't trust anyone; that she couldn't be normal, that she couldn't move on and live a healthy and happy life.

She had survived for so long hating him, blaming him, despising him for what he had done, and the tragedy was, it was all she had left. Her heart wanted more than anything to believe in him again, to bury herself in his arms and let it all go, but she couldn't. She was too afraid. Hera didn't quite know how to just let it all go. Her wounds, even if they had been borne out of misunderstanding, had been too deep.

She took another step away from him and the disappointment and hint of panic in his eyes made her feel guilty – yet still, she retreated.

"Hera, please," he pleaded with her, but she took another step back, and then one more.

"I can't," she whispered.

"But why?" he persisted, moving toward her and watching helplessly as she withdrew.

"I need time," she answered lamely.

Suddenly, every aspect of her personality, her character, flaws and all started to become clearer to him, just as they had before in a time long ago—it was all becoming second nature to him again.

"Don't run away from me, Hera," he begged. "Please… don't."

"I can't do this," she said, looking into his eyes one last time before quickly disappearing back into the house. He would have gone after her, but it was the look in her eyes that made him stay put, helplessly standing there as she slipped through his fingers once more.

She was afraid.


	57. Persistence

**Thank you to** Bloodsired **,** Scarlet Empress **,** Madam Silver **,** She-Devil Red **,** the invisible reader **,** RegencyPoet **,** ForsakenStar22 **,** BornRose2 **,** Countess **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** alexc1209 **,** 12345678910 **,** Cosmopolitan Countess **,** ShadowSpade **,** Kiriari **, and** ForeverACharmedOne **for reviewing yesterday!**

 **Due to the similar themes/tones of this chapter and the next, I'll be posting them both side-by side today and then doing only one chapter tomorrow. Trust me, it just makes more sense this way.**

 **Forgive any errors I may have missed and ENJOY! :)**

* * *

 **LVII**

 _ **Persistence**_

"And now if you'll follow me into the room to my right, you'll find everything in here is either from or is a replica of something from the Middle Ages, also known as the Dark Ages. Charles the Great, more popularly known as Charlemagne, was the first major ruler of that time period. In fact, he was an emperor and he ruled from 768 to 814. He built on the military and diplomatic foundations of his ancestors and on the administrative machinery of the Merovingian kings. Though crude and brutal, Charlemagne was a man of enormous intelligence. He appreciated good literature and was considered to be an unusually effective speaker, as quoted by Einhard."

The crowd continued to move about the room, listening as the tour guide ramble on.

"Sounds like you," Hera muttered sarcastically, knowing all too well that Dracula was nearby and would pick up on her comment.

"You mean incredibly intelligent and very good looking?" he teased as he moved a bit farther away from Henry who was admiring a painting and over to Hera who was studying the reliquary bust of Charlemagne's head.

"No. I meant the crude and brutal part. The only reason why you're even considered intelligent is because you've been around for over five hundred years. If you were really as old as you told my father, I think you'd be a lot stupider."

Dracula chuckled.

"Miss Garret, you're so generous with your compliments today. You really ought to stop. You'll make me blush."

She just rolled her eyes and moved around the bust so she wouldn't have to stand next to him.

"Remind me again why you're here?"

"Your father invited me," was his more serious answer. "If I had known you'd be here, I would have declined."

"And yet, here you remain."

"I'm sorry, perhaps we should pull your father aside and explain to him the details of our past relationship so he'll stop trying to put us in the same room as one another," Dracula replied calmly, though the frost in his tone was evident.

"Oh yes, because _that_ will go over well!" Hera said with a bitter laugh. "'Father dearest, did you know that your best friend manipulated and seduced me and then got me pregnant with his demon spawn and the only way to save mankind was to off him _and_ myself with the baby still inside me?'"

"We already talked about this, Hera. I have apologized profusely for what I put you through, and I live with the guilt of that every day, but your inability to believe me when I say that I _literally_ could not tell you is just…"

"Do you honestly expect me to?" she interrupted. "You expect me to believe that part of your _curse_ was that you couldn't tell me or at the very least _pay_ someone else to tell me the truth?"

"The Hera I knew would have believed me."

"The Hera you knew hadn't had her heart smashed into a million pieces pre death experience," she scoffed.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked with strained patience, but their conversation was interrupted by the museum's tour guide.

"Ah, I see you two have found the reliquary bust of Charlemagne," the guide replied. "This splendid twelfth century gothic idealization portrays the emperor of legend and myth rather than the squat, potbellied ruler described by his contemporary Einhard."

"How fascinating," Hera answered apathetically as she moved over to a diorama of a cathedral.

"You'll have to excuse her, she's not in a very good mood," Dracula explained.

"Didn't want to come today?"

"No, she wanted to come, but received some unwanted company."

"Unwanted indeed," Hera grumbled mostly to herself, listening to the entire conversation while taking out her water bottle.

"Your wife is Professor Garret's daughter?" the tour guide inquired.

Hera nearly choked and Dracula just laughed.

"Me? Married to her? Oh, God no… she wouldn't have me even if I offered my immortal soul to her."

The woman whirled around and sent him a nasty look.

"Wouldn't _have_ you?" she exclaimed. "Christ, Vladislaus, you are unbelievable!"

"Now don't go all religious on me, spitfire," he teased with narrowed eyes, but she just huffed loudly and stalked out of the room, much to the surprise of her father and the guide.

"This coming from the bastard who prayed for the first time in five hundred years and actually got an answer," and then she disappeared around the corner.

The guide gave the Count a bewildered look when he heard the "five hundred years" comment, his expression clearly asking for clarification. Dracula just sighed.

"I fear she exaggerates a great deal."

"Evidently."

"You're right about Charlemagne, however. This bust doesn't look like him at all."

"You've met the emperor?" the tour guide joked.

Dracula remained completely serious.

"No. Alas, he was before my time. But I did meet William Shakespeare and he doesn't look a damned thing like those portraits of his. He actually looked a lot better than the painters gave him justice. They just made him look bad because he was sleeping with all their wives. Kind of reminds me of Vlad Țepeș. You know who that is, don't you?"

"Vlad Țepeș? You mean Count Dracula?"

"Yes. There is a prime example. You see, he doesn't look at all like the paintings and wood carvings, and for the similar reason Shakespeare had."

The tour guide sent the Count a bewildered expression as he watched him then exit the medieval room.

Hera was found just outside of it, leaning against a railing that overlooked some ancient artifact or another, a quiet frustration in her eyes. The Count opened his mouth to speak to her, but she didn't need to hear him to know he was already standing behind her.

"What part of 'stop fucking stalking me' do you not understand?" she snapped irritably.

Remaining utterly composed, he replied:

"Oh, I understand you completely. Although, admittedly I still wonder why you choose to insert the word 'fucking' into that request when clearly it holds no purpose."

Hera whirled around and glared at him, fire in her eyes, and not the kind he usually liked to see, but anything was better than the dull emptiness he had been forced to witness when they had first met up.

"Why won't you leave me alone?"

"Look, I'm trying, but whether you like it or not, your father is my friend and I enjoy his company. I can't keep giving him excuses and declining his invitations when I have no real reason to offer him."

"You're an excellent liar. I'm sure if you tried, you could think of something."

Dracula's look got dark and the hard lines in her furrowed brow softened a little.

"Sorry," she mumbled, and though Dracula nodded in acknowledgment of her apology he said nothing for a time as they studied the statue in front of them, the air between them thick.

"I wish you understood that you aren't the only one to have suffered, Hera," he said softly, eyes still fixed in front of him. "If I could go back and spare you from what happened, if I could somehow restrain myself for those thirty minutes more, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

Hera's gaze fell to the ground as she studied the tile beneath her feet, though her mind was a hundred years away, lost in the haunted reverie of that fateful evening.

Despite the circumstances of the night he was referring to, the passion and pleasure of that evening had left its mark on her soul. Though she regretted much of what had taken place after they had collided, try as she might she could not regret what she did with him.

The feverish love-making.

The way their souls became one.

How for the first time in her life she had felt whole.

Before Hera could even begin to respond to the Count's comment, she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket and upon removing it, she discovered Richard Grayson's name and picture on the screen.

Lifting the phone to her ear, she wore her best fake smile, turning on an overly exaggerated cheery disposition.

"Richard! How are you? ... Oh I'm just visiting a museum with my dad and a friend of his," and she started to walk away, fully aware that Dracula's eyes were following her. "I miss you too. It has been ages, hasn't it? … What? Dinner tonight? I wish I could, but I can't. I'm supposed to spend the rest of the day with him. He made me swear I would. What about tomorrow? … What? Out of town? Where?"

Dracula tried to pretend that he wasn't interested in her conversation, but with little success. He was hanging onto every word and expression.

"I see. How long will you be gone? … That long? … No, of course I'm not upset, just disappointed. I feel like I haven't seen you in weeks. … Yeah. No, I understand. All right…. No, I don't know when we'll be back tonight. I suspect it'll be late. What about in the morning, before your flight? … Oh, yeah, that is awfully early. All right. I suppose I'll see you when you get back then. Look up Hailey for me while you're in the states and be safe…. I know you do."

She smiled uncomfortably.

This Richard had said he loved her, Dracula was sure of it.

It gave him a sense of relief to know that the feeling wasn't mutual and that relief allowed hope to spring eternal.

The call was finished and before Dracula could talk with her further, Henry entered the room, giving Hera the perfect opportunity to slip out.

Dracula had limited time before this Richard Grayson would reenter the picture and complicate things. He wasn't quite sure how he'd do it, but he needed to win Hera back – one way or another.

* * *

"Hera, you're being irrational!" Henry Garret insisted, to which his daughter vehemently replied:

"I don't like how you're always hanging around him and inviting him over, even for the most mundane things!"

"Talking about Eastern Europe and the Ottoman Turks over a pot of tea is _not_ mundane! He's a historian, and a damn good one, the best I've ever met – especially for one who only pursues the subject casually instead of professionally. You should at least give him some of the respect that he deserves!"

"You'd be smart too if you lived for over five centuries."

But since he hadn't caught her response, he continued:

"What's more, I don't care for how ill-tempered you are when he's around. I swear, you can be two different people all in a matter of seconds! One minute you're pleasant, and the next you're hissing and gnashing your teeth!"

"I wasn't _gnashing_ my teeth! For the love of…"

"Another thing! I'm tired of that disrespectful tone of yours, Hera! And the profanity! If you can't be more respectable and at least learn to hold your tongue and stop embarrassing me in front of my own guests…" he trailed off uncomfortably, "Well, seeing as you are well over thirty and living at home…"

"Are you threatening to kick me out?" she then inquired, surprised that her father would ever suggest a thing. It was probably all _Vlad's_ idea anyway. _Bastard_. "You forget that I moved back here to take care of you."

"I'm not a child, Hera. I don't need you coddling me. I'm in perfect health."

"If you'd stay away from the alcohol, you'd be in perfect health," she said pointedly. "And I don't quite care for you threatening to eject me from the house simply because I disapprove of one of your friends."

"I'm not threatening you, but it has been brought to my attention that…"

"I KNEW IT! It _was_ his idea!" she then exclaimed, disgusted that that backstabbing vampire—no wait. He wasn't a vampire any more. It disgusted her to think that that backstabbing _mortal_ (and that sounded so strange when related to him) would even suggest to her father…

" _Whose_ idea? Hera, who are you talking about?"

"It's Vlad! He's the one behind all this!"

Henry laughed.

"Vlad? No, no, for heaven's sake child, he never suggested such a thing to me!"

"Yes he did, father, stop defending him! That Romanian is a backstabbing conspirator! A narcissistic, womanizing sadist! He's brainwashed you, hasn't he?"

Clearly her father wasn't taking her seriously, because his laughter only got worse.

"Hera, please. This is ridiculous. I will never understand why you've taken to disliking him as you have. The man, despite your ill-manners, speaks rather highly of you, and quite frequently too. Why didn't you ever tell me you two had met before?"

Hera nearly forgot to breathe.

" _W_ _hat?_ " she whispered.

"Yes, and I confess I found it rather peculiar too when he mentioned it. He said that he had met you before in Romania during one of your visits there. He was surprised that you didn't remember him—actually he seemed rather disappointed to me—and said of all the women he had ever met since, he found himself constantly comparing them all to you."

Hera had to sit down before she collapsed.

She didn't respond at first, too surprised, let alone baffled at Dracula's reasoning for admitting such personal information. Then it made her even more curious. What else had he said? She must have asked the question aloud without realizing, because her father answered it.

"I can't exactly recall how the subject was brought up when he had invited me to have lunch with him – you remember last week? When I had run down to Oxford? You remember me telling you?"

Hera only nodded.

She couldn't seem to find her voice.

"Well, as I mentioned, I can't remember how we got on the topic, but I do recall him inquiring after you when we had first run into each other on the campus grounds—he was touring them for the sheer pleasure of it; I showed him my old classroom and —anyways, he asked me about you. Asked me about the family, about your mother and Athena; inquired about how you handled it all, from my perspective anyway."

Hera looked gently up at her father, a very soft look in her eyes.

"What did you tell him?" she asked.

"I told him what I knew. I don't really know, now that I think of it, why I told him everything, but I did. There's something very trustworthy about him, Hera. Something about the way he pays attention, like an eager, attentive student, thirsty for understanding. His decorum is very classic and his manners and behaviorisms are certainly far from modern. He's incredibly polite, cordial, respectable… a genuine gentleman and an excellent listener. I've never met anyone like him before."

"Yes," she finally said, her voice barely a whisper. "There are few men like him," and she continued to hang onto her father's every word whilst reminiscing on her past experiences with Dracula before everything had gone to hell.

Once upon a time she had discovered the man that Dracula really was. Could it be possible that everything he had said had been true after all? She was almost afraid to believe it.

"I will certainly agree with you on that point, my dear," Henry continued, never noticing the change in the atmosphere surrounding his daughter: it was a serene contemplation. "He's certainly taken a fancy to you though," he confessed, a devious glimpse in his eyes as he chuckled slightly. "My word, I have met many men in my day who have fallen captive to you, my dear, but this one—I can't help but get the impression that he somehow knows you better than I do. As if he has an upper hand in everything."

He trailed off, reflectively.

"What do you mean?"

Henry Garret smoothed his thumb over his chin a few times in a thoughtful manner before answering.

"I can't be sure."

Silence lingered for a moment or two until François knocked onto Henry's study door.

"Mr. Garret?"

"Yes François, it's open." The butler stuck his head into the room.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but there is a Sir Gregory Stratford from the university on the phone."

"Which line?"

"Three, sir."

"Thank you François. Hera, darling, we'll have to finish our conversation later."

Hera nodded her head obediently and stood from her seat, making her way to the door.

"Oh, and Mr. Drăculești has just arrived, sir."

Hera sent her father a look.

"Ah yes, that's right. I invited him over for dinner this evening. Completely forgot. Hera, will you see to him?"

" _Excuse me?_ "

He scowled.

"Hera…" came the warning.

She sighed in defeat.

"Alright, alright. François, where is he?"

"He's in the parlor, miss."

"Thanks. I'll take it from here."


	58. His Last Resort

**This chapter - even though I'm totally burned out from all the agonizing edits and fine-tuning - still gives me all the feels.**

 **Would appreciate feedback on this one.**

* * *

 **LVIII**

 _ **His Last Resort**_

Dracula leaned forward in his seat on the rather stiff sofa, his fingers entwined in front of him as he twiddled his thumbs in nervous anticipation. It had been three weeks since he had told Hera the truth about what he had done for her, the sacrifice he had made in order to save her life, and despite their many tense conversations since, she remained impenetrable.

He couldn't live with this any longer.

Although he struggled to respect her wishes and keep his distance, he hated being separated from her, especially in this fashion.

If everything went according to plan this evening, that would change. All he had to do was find the opportune moment to be alone with her, for at least an hour, minimum. He had hoped he wouldn't have to resort to this method and he figured he could give her a few more chances before having to do… well, what he was prepared to do.

Reaching into his pocket, he felt around for the small vial he had placed within just before he had left his hotel room. He hoped and prayed that he wouldn't have to resort to using the vial's contents, but that was entirely up to Hera.

As if on cue, the mentioned woman entered the room with Isis following close behind and he stood immediately upon her arrival, simply out of habit. Old fashioned is what many called it today, but women were women, and it was respectable as a gentleman to rise upon a lady's entrance into a room. Not that the formalities mattered anyway. This was Hera and he would have done so whether he had to or not.

She rolled her eyes at his action, a small amused curve forming on her lips.

"You don't have to do that you know," she said, motioning with her hand for him to sit down.

"How are you?" he inquired—almost expectantly and his tone made her cock a brow.

"I'm fine?"

"You mean you don't know?"

He was pleased when she didn't get defensive.

"My mood is yet to be determined," she replied, playing along, watching as Isis took a seat on the sofa beside the Count, resting her head on his lap on his left as his hand idly stroked the dog's fur. _Traitor_ , she thought numbly, rolling her eyes. "But don't worry. You'll be the first to know when it goes sour," and she moved over to the small table with various brandies. "Something to drink? My father is on the phone with a colleague of his and will probably be detained for a little while."

"So let me guess. You've been sent here—against your will, I suppose—to keep me company?" he asked with a smile.

She chuckled, pouring herself a glass and then one for the Count.

"Always so perceptive," she sighed, turning around and making her way over to him to hand him his glass.

"Especially with you," was his answer, and he watched her move toward him, a peculiar expression painting his features.

Dracula caught her gaze for a few moments as she stood in front of him, the glass held out for him to take. He took it, keeping eye contact with her the entire time, his fingers gently brushing against hers before she let go of the glass and took a seat across from him. The Count studied her for a few moments in silence, observing as she turned her eyes away from him, bringing the glass to her lips to drink.

She was dressed in a dress today: simple in design, though stylish, cut to the knee. No, she wasn't just stylish, he thought quietly. She was gorgeous.

He didn't know if his testosterone was just copious in amount today or what, but just noting the way her smooth legs crossed one over the other, giving his hungry eyes a little access to her thighs was doing the most astonishing things to his insides, particularly in the crotch region of his pants.

In truth, this had been happing a lot lately. Being around her brought back not only memories of their relationship, but of the sex, and he realized he had been spending more time than was probably prudent, taking in the change in her body whenever he examined her from a distance.

He could tell that she had matured – like a fine wine – and the old lover in him ached to uncover her secrets, to smooth his hands over her soft skin. Lord, he could taste that honey of hers in his mouth already, with his face burrowed between hot thighs…

"So," Hera said aloud, interrupting his licentious fantasies, "how was your day?"

"Uneventful," he answered honestly. "Boring, actually."

"You mean to say that England has lost its magic with you?"

"No, I didn't say that. I just meant that, well, I can only stand the solitude for so long, if you understand my meaning."

"I understand," she replied. "Being alone is nice, but sometimes you need to be surrounded by people."

"I think you'd know that best," he added and she gave him a puzzled look. He answered her unasked question: "Well, you've pretty much locked yourself away from society for the most part. Or you did, at least, for a time."

"Yes, I did. And with good reason too."

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly as if struggling to restrain himself.

"I misspoke," he began, but she interrupted.

"It doesn't matter anymore, Count."

"But it _does_ matter," he insisted. "I've never taken any pleasure in your suffering, despite what you may think."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Forgive me, Hera, but I think we need to talk about it. You clearly insist on assuming the absolute worst of me and I've tried to tolerate it, but I can't anymore. I have paid my penance. What more do you want from me?"

"You haven't paid nearly enough," she countered bitterly. "You may have had to endure the guilt of destroying my life, Count, but you will never even begin to fathom what your cruel thoughtlessness did to me."

He opened his mouth to respond, perfectly prepared to argue, but Hera's father entered the room, interrupting them. Isis, uncomfortable with the tension between the two ex-lovers, stepped off of the sofa upon Henry's entrance, exiting from the room to find a quieter place to sleep.

"So sorry to keep you waiting, Vlad," Mr. Garret said, hardly aware of the thick tension floating between his daughter and his guest. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No," Vlad said with forced lightness, looking over at Hera with a hard gaze. "Not at all."

She only glared back at him, her expression daring him to do his worst, but behind her eyes he could see a hint of apprehension.

"Well, I have some unfortunate news," Henry continued. "An old colleague of mine has requested my presence for a conference that is about to start in," he glanced at his watch, "oh, a couple hours, and I am to leave immediately to stay the night in town, which means I won't be able to join you for dinner." Hera's expression changed from anger to dread.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Henry."

"As am I. But I do not wish to send you back to your hotel with an empty stomach, especially since you've been spending so much time driving, so I insist that you at least join Hera for dinner. I'm sure she'll be able to keep you company for that time being. And if she happens to transform into a dragon while I'm gone…"

"Father, do you really think this is appropriate?" Hera interjected.

"What, my dear?"

"That he stay here alone with me while you're out?"

"Hera, you're not a child any more. It's perfectly acceptable," he insisted.

"But…"

"Now then," he cut her off, motioning for the door, "I believe François mentioned that it was time for dinner. You two know where the dining room is, so…" and he bowed slightly. "Forgive me for the inconvenience, Vlad."

"No, it's perfectly alright. Drive safe."

"Thank you."

After a kiss was planted on Hera's cheek, Henry was out the door.

An uncomfortable silence lingered for a moment or two before Vlad and Hera finally made eye contact with one another. She exhaled slowly, regaining her composure, and then she rose from her seat.

"Shall we resume our conversation during or after dinner?" she asked as calmly as she could.

Dracula stood and motioned for the door.

"After, if you don't mind," he replied with a habitual politeness.

"Very well," she surrendered, exiting from the room first, letting him follow after her.

Dinner, needless to say, was silent, save it were the very minimal small talk that was exchanged, mostly on the meal itself and how "delicious" it was.

But other than the marvelous show they put on of being totally and completely civil, the tension could have been cut with a knife. Dracula finished his meal first, and then waited in silence for Hera.

He couldn't believe what was happening.

He was actually going to have time _alone_ with her – uninterrupted.

The Count didn't know if it was divine intervention or some other force at work, but whatever it was, it was an opportunity, and he was planning on taking it. By the time Hera was done, he had resolved not to leave the premises until he had told and shown her _everything._

The instant she placed her fork down on her plate, he stood before the housekeeper could even clear off their dirty dishes. Moving resolutely towards the door, he stopped and waited for her to follow. Hera reluctantly got out of her seat and made her way over to him, awaiting his instruction.

When he didn't give any, she said:

"So, do you want to head back to the parlor and finish what we were … discussing?"

"You mean how you think you've suffered in all of this more than I have? No, I have a feeling we may start yelling at each other."

"You're probably right. Outside then?"

"I think that would be wise."

"I'll go grab a sweater."

"You can wear my coat. Come," and he snatched his long trench coat and handed it to her before leading her out the door.

The Count's pace was quick and almost furious as they entered the gardens and marched through the dark grounds. Hera had anticipated that she'd have to jog to keep up with him but was pleased that after all these years, she could finally follow right alongside him.

"So," she began, attempting to put the first word in, but he beat her to it.

"You're a lot more selfish than I remember you being," he suddenly admitted.

"Oh really?" she snapped back irritably. "Care to elaborate, _Count?_ "

"With pleasure, _Miss Garret_ ," he said through gritted teeth. "You think you're the only one to have suffered through all of this."

She cut him off.

"And I am!" she nearly shouted, stopping suddenly in the middle of the path and turning to face him. "Last time I checked, you weren't the one who was used or lied to. _I_ was!"

"For the last time, it wasn't like that!"

"But you lied to me, Vlad!"

"About what?!" he exclaimed. "About my feelings for you? I loved you then, Hera, and I have loved you since. I understand that you're upset and you're hurt and that you've suffered, but you don't get to discredit my own anguish for the sake of validating your own! It isn't fair!"

"It's not fair?" she shot. "You used me, Vladislaus! You just had to see how far you could take it, didn't you? You couldn't stop at gaining my allegiances, you had to make me fall in love with you!"

He exhaled loudly, rubbing his hand down his face in an agitated fashion, rapidly losing his patience with her.

"I can't believe you actually _think_ that!"

"I don't think it, I _know_ it!" she yelled. "You have no idea what it's been like Vlad, living like this for the past eight years, replaying my entire relationship with you over and over again in my head, trying to figure out when it happened, when everything went wrong! The only explanation is that you NEVER felt anything for me! You never loved me! It was all a fucking lie!"

"No it was not and don't you EVER say that again!" he shouted at her, his passionate outburst making her jump.

He looked like he was about ready to smack her.

"You _know_ what I felt for you was NOT a lie. I am sorry that things turned out the way they did – that I did use you, though God as my witness, I didn't want to," he continued. "I'm sorry I never told you about the curse, about the pregnancy, about Aleera and what I had said to save you from her, and if I have to apologize until we're both dead in the ground, then I will keep apologizing, but don't you _dare_ look me in the eye and tell me that I haven't suffered enough. You have NO idea what it has been like knowing full well the pain you have endured and not being able to do anything about it. I wanted to come to you hundreds of times, wanted to end your suffering right then and there, but you _know_ what my circumstances were! You can't keep blaming me for your misery! Not all of it is my fault!"

"What do you want from me!?" she snapped, angry tears streaming down her cheeks.

He grabbed her arms and pulled her a little closer to him so she would get the full force of his answer.

"I want to be with you!" he said with a desperate sense of passion. "I'm tired of being forced away from your side! I'm tired of facing what is left of my life alone, of dealing with the very stark reality that in a couple of decades I will have to face the death I have dedicated my very existence to avoiding. I don't want to die, Hera. I am _terrified_ of the notion, but I gave up my immortality so you could live and I would do it again without a second thought because I love you more than life itself! I am so tired of replaying old memories in my head over and over again, tormenting myself with dreams of what could have been, of what I still want! I'm tired of all of it, Hera! Aren't you?! I know you long for this pain to end, so let it end! Stop clinging to your anguish and let it go!"

"I can't!"

"Why not!?"

"Because I don't know how!" she exclaimed. "I have spent almost a decade of my life hating you. Even if I wanted to forgive you and fall back into your arms, I can't! I can't trust you after what you did to me, Dracula! I can't and I don't _want_ to! I hate you too much!"

Hera found herself regretting the words shortly after they left her mouth – specifically the last part. What she said about hating him and not wanting to trust him was far from the truth. She wanted more than anything in the world to trust him again like she once had. But she was terrified that if she did and if she was wrong, she would surely die from the disappointment – as melodramatic as that was.

The pain in Dracula's expression took her breath away.

It was very evident that her words wounded him far deeper than she had intended and the tears of forbearance that gathered at his lower lash line racked her soul with guilt.

The Count removed an envelope from his pocket, the article sealed with his wax insignia, her name beautifully written on the front. He handed it to her.

"I will disturb you no longer, madam," he said in a tone that was barely held together. "I am sorry you have come to hate me so and I sincerely hope that one day you will be able to forgive the wrongs that I have committed towards you, though I fear I will never be worthy of your pardon and I will accept my sentence with what little dignity I have left."

When she refused to take the envelope he was offering her, he took her wrist and placed the article in her hand.

"However, if someday you manage to find it in your heart to desire to understand the truth, drink the contents of the vial enclosed."

Dracula then released her wrist and took a step back.

"And now I will take my leave. Goodbye, Miss Garret, and accept my sincere wish for your health and happiness."

And then he left her there, standing alone in the garden, cheeks stained in tears and heart aching.

Hera never would have dreamed it possible, but she could _feel_ the distance between them and when his car disappeared into the night, for the briefest of moments she thought she felt the invisible chord that had linked them together snap.

Hera returned to the house a short time later, confining herself to her bedroom.

It took her at least an hour of staring at the envelope the Count had given her before she found the nerve to break the wax seal and remove the contents. Within, she discovered the vial of which he spoke – a thin, cylindrical tube filled with what looked like blood – _his_ blood; and with the vial was a note written in his hand:

 _My Dearest Hera-_

 _If you are reading this, then I fear we have come to an impasse. You have expressed a wish for me to stay away from you and your father and though it pains me to do so, I will obey. I leave for home at the end of the week and rest assured, I should be able to avoid seeing your father between now and that time and though he may not understand my reasons, I hope you will at least express my sincerest apologies to him. Your father is an excellent man and I value his friendship. But I value you more, and as you wish for me to keep my distance, I shall strive to do so._

 _The vial contains the last surviving sampling of my blood before I became a mortal. If ingested, you will be privy to the whole of my history in every bleak and darkened detail – should you wish to know the truth. I don't know when I'll see you again, though I hope this meeting will not be our last. However, if it is, I pray that you will one day understand how much I love you, how much I have always loved you, and how much I will love you still until the end of my days._

 _Yours affectionately,_

 _Vladislaus_

Hera would read and reread that simple note at least several dozen times over the next three days. During the light hours, the words would run through her head on repeat, while in the night she'd study the vial in the solitary darkness of her room, weighing her options, trying to decide what she was going to do.

On the third day, Hera could bear the separation no longer. Her pride be damned, she missed the Count, the strange comfort of his presence, the sound of his voice. That evening, after her father had gone to bed, in a moment of desperation Hera uncorked the vial and knocked back the contents like a shot.

Dracula's blood was not as sweet as she had once imagined it to be. The liquid was thick, rich, and metallic-like – cold as he had once been. The effects were immediate, however, and she lied back on her bed as they took over her conscious mind.

He wasn't kidding when he said the blood would show her the whole of his history – Hera was soon witnessing the entirety of his life, from birth to death and beyond, the memories so powerful and so intense that she was soon rendered unconscious.

That night, as Hera slept, she felt and saw more than she had ever wished to.

It started with Dracula's childhood. Unlike her own, which had been relatively happy and carefree, his was severe and heartbreaking. His mother, when she had been alive, was always sad; and his father was a harsh and sadistic man, near impossible to please.

The Count's adolescence was no better. Dracula was raised, drilled to be a soldier, and it seemed to be the only thing he was good at. He tried to be more gentle and humane, but it appeared to be of little use. The young Vlad lived for father's praise, and to be a harsh leader and merciless solider seemed to be the only way.

Hera then witnessed and felt firsthand his entire experience with Ilona, the pain she inflicted on him and the monstrosities that followed thereafter. She saw his murder, his dealings in hell, his meeting with Lucifer, which left Hera's soul to sob in fear, and then came his resurrection. She watched four hundred years of his life go by – the emptiness, that terrible hollow feeling. The only thing he ever felt was lust and anger. Never anything more.

She was also able to observe him with every woman he had ever been with and for the first time in her life, Hera could compare her own experiences with all the other persons he had ever seduced.

Unlike his brides and the other victims who fell prey to his appetites, Hera had experienced him in his more sincere and selfless form, and as she watched her entire relationship with him transpire, only through his eyes, suddenly everything started to make sense. His original intentions were there to be sure, but when he had failed in keeping himself from her that fateful evening, not a day went by when the guilt hadn't torment him.

She then witnessed the meeting with Aleera through his eyes, his struggle, his hope to be able to save the love of his life from his jealous and petty bride without having to take another life.

And then she saw the night she tried to kill herself.

Witnessing the next century that he experienced thereafter was the hardest thing Hera's soul had ever been forced to endure. Her suffering for the past eight years had been _nothing_ compared to his over the last century.

Hera watched helplessly through his eyes as she had vanished in his arms, the anger, the hurt – but instead of letting it out on others, he locked himself away in the places she had not infected with her presence, and there he suffered, isolated and alone.

Dracula rarely fed and he never slept.

He tortured himself, reviewing those past months over and over again in his head, and the weight of his guilt haunted him.

For the next few years, he could not step foot in Castle Dracula, nor the Vilkova Palace. Even Visceria, where Anna and Van Helsing had married and started raising a family of their own, was too painful to so much as fly over.

And Castle Frankenstein: he had burned it to the ground.

Eventually he was able to move on slightly, more and more as the years went on. Dracula socialized, went out in public, tried to go back to his old ways, but he found himself comparing every woman he was with to Hera. Sleeping with them was the worst part, and trying to satisfy his carnal needs scarred him more than anything else did.

The Count had grown to hate being touched by other women, hated the way they looked at him, hated how his body craved them, but his soul craved another.

They never satisfied him, and he always felt empty and filthy afterwards.

After watching those years fly by, Hera soon realized that it had been he who had sparked her original interest in the myth and history of "Count Dracula", a memory she had forgotten until now. She had been barely eleven at the time during her first trip to Romania, when a copy of Bram Stoker's _Dracula_ had strangely fallen off the shelf and onto the floor in one of the empty aisles of the Bucharest National Library. It had been he who had placed the book in her path.

The last eight years of the Count's life in particular were a blur in Hera's mind and the rekindled pain and the promise he had made with God was only the icing on the cake. By the time it was all over, Hera was thoroughly disappointed in herself.

He hadn't suffered as much as she had—his had been so much worse and experiencing it through his eyes made her feel ill. She didn't deserve this man – his love, his constant devotion, his persistence, his patience. She had been the one and only source of true happiness in his existence and she had been heartless by shoving his offered heart back into his face.

When Hera awoke the next morning, she did so in tears, her body trembling beneath the covers of her bed as she sobbed silently.

"Why?" seemed to be the word of the hour.

Why did she say those things to him the other night?

Why had she been so cruel, so unfeeling?

Why had she refused to believe him, to forgive him, to at least see things from his side as she had done so easily in the past?

Why, oh why, oh why?


	59. Begin Again

**Many hugs and much love to** She-Devil Red **,** Madam Silver **,** alexc1209 **,** Countess **,** the invisible reader **,** Bloodsired **,** steelgirl19 **,** BornRose2 **,** PC **,** RegencyPoet **,** Cosmopolitan Countess **,** AnimeFan001 **,** 12345678910 **,** DreamBubbles **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** ShadowSpade **,** Elle **,** Kiriari **, and** bloodyrose2014 **for reviewing yesterday!**

 **I continue to be just utterly blown away by the collective response and support of this story and can't thank you all enough for reading and especially reviewing! A couple of you have become very passionate when it comes to these characters and the things they go through and that just means the world to me to know how much you care for this tale. Can't believe we only have 6 more chapters after this one and then the story is done. It will be bittersweet for sure, but let's enjoy what we have left, shall we?**

 **I know a great many of you were hoping Hera and Dracula would be able to resolve their issues, so I think you'll enjoy this installment.** **Would love to hear your thoughts when you finish! Thanks again for stopping by and I'll see you all again on Monday as we start the home-stretch!**

* * *

 **LIX**

 _ **Begin Again**_

Hera was nervous.

Pacing the sidewalk, popping her knuckles, smoothing her palms over her skirt for the hundredth time, reciting what she would say over and over again in her head. She was a wreck.

It had been several days since Hera had last seen, spoken to, or heard from Dracula. Despite the Count's attempts to adhere to her wishes, her father made no such endeavor. Henry had been persistent and at last, Dracula had relented.

The two were now enjoying an afternoon perusing the ruins of Pontefract Castle, both men oblivious to the fact that Hera was in town as well, only for less educational purposes. She had discovered a small business card of the hotel in Leeds that Dracula was supposedly staying at, the piece of cardstock having been left in her father's office. Written in a masculine hand on the back of the card was a room number and his mobile.

Too nervous to call him, Hera had decided to pay the Count a visit—a private one—so they wouldn't be interrupted.

She looked down at her phone once more to check the time.

One of the hotel's workers mentioned that "Mr. Drăculești" would be returning around six or so and according to her father, his outing with Vlad would end at about five, leaving Henry an opportunity to grab a quick bite to eat before attending another one of his meetings with a colleague from the university.

It was almost six o'clock now.

She pulled Dracula's coat tighter around her body in an effort to guard herself from the unusual summer chill that was gently rustling through the trees outside of the hotel as she blindly changed the song on her iPod, hidden in one of the pockets. Hera continued to scan the streets for another moment or two until the wind started to get to her and she finally decided it would be best to wait inside the lobby.

The woman found a comfortable seat in the corner with a perfect view of the front entrance and there she waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Until at last, Dracula entered the hotel.

Hera felt her heart get caught in her throat as she watched him open the glass doors and make his way inside, acknowledging the receptionist at the front desk before asking if there had been any messages left for him. When she said no, a look of disappointment flashed over his features and he nodded his head, managing a smile as he made his way towards the elevator.

She watched him carefully as he waited for the elevator to arrive and for the first time since she had seen him, she allowed herself to truly take him in visually. It was peculiar seeing the man dressed in more contemporary stitching, although she could not deny – the Count had an excellent sense of style. Very respectable, clean cut, and dare she say modern? She watched him move onto the elevator, and then she counted to ten before forcing herself to her feet.

Her heart started to race as she approached the lift, silently rehearsing what she was going to say to him. But when the elevator opened, ready to take her to the sixth floor where he was staying, she lost her nerve and decided to take the longer way in an effort to retrieve her courage. Her route of choice: the stairs.

Hera could hardly understand why she was so anxious. She knew Dracula so well—more so now than ever before thanks to his memories. The woman cringed internally as she recalled what she had seen and she started to second-guess her motives in coming here this evening.

What would she say if he asked her why she was here, what her reason was for coming? She thought about it for a moment as she continued to walk steadily up the stairs, mindlessly turning off her iPod and shoving it into the pocket of the coat, the silence permitting her to think more clearly.

Maybe it was because she felt guilty? Yes, that had some validity to it, although it wasn't her main reason. She felt guilty for how she had treated him, pity for what he had experienced and endured. But despite all the reasons she could come up with, there was one in particular that seemed to make the most sense.

She had missed him, and though she secretly wondered if they'd ever be what they were before, a part of her – despite the lingering remnants of pain – was still head-over-heels in love with him.

And that love outweighed any reservations she may have still had.

There was still a spark that ignited within her whenever she saw him, thought of him. And although due to his proclamation and what she had seen, she knew he still loved her, but she couldn't help but wonder to what extent? Both of them had suffered in similar and dissimilar ways. If he took her offer, could they make this work?

Well, she was about to find out as she discovered suddenly that she had made it to the sixth floor of the hotel and had now reached the door to his room. Hera stared at the large gold plated numbers: 649, hammered above the frame into the wall. She stood there for a moment or two as she gently removed his coat from off her shoulders, folding it once over her arm before taking a deep breath, balling her hand into a fist, raising it up towards the door, and knocking three times.

Then she waited.

Nothing happened at first. There was no noise from within; no one had come to open it. So she tried again.

Just as she finished the second knock, the door opened, and standing in the door way was Dracula with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Miss Garret?" was all he said, his tone displaying his evident surprise.

"Hi," she said timidly.

"Is everything all right?"

She nodded.

"Yes, everything is…" then she paused, and changed her mind. "No, everything is not all right."

His expression displayed his concern, but he remained silent, waiting for her to explain.

When she didn't, he asked:

"Do you want to come in?"

"No," she answered immediately, and then quickly tacked on, "thank you. This will only take a second. I don't want to impose."

His smile made the butterflies in her stomach wild and she watched as his strong physique leaned against the frame of the doorway.

"Very well then. What can I do for you?"

She handed him his coat.

"First off, I wanted to give you this. You left it."

"Thank you."

"And secondly, I…" she paused, looking down at the carpet below, unable to meet his gaze.

She covered her eyes and tried to chuckle off the stupid feeling that was now flushing in her cheeks.

"I feel like such an idiot," she whispered, mostly to herself. The tears came as if out of habit and she covered her mouth, her eyes closed as she tried to suppress her emotions. "I believe I owe you an apology," she began with some difficulty. "I am so sorry for what I said to you a few days ago. I was hurt, yes, but that is no excuse for how unfeeling and tactless I was. And I hope you know I didn't mean it when I said I didn't want to trust you. I was scared and confused and in so much pain. It was just easier to convince myself that you were some unfeeling monster so I could hate you instead of recognizing that I wasn't the only one grieving."

Even though Dracula longed to save her from the evident discomfort of speaking, he kept silent, waiting for her to finish.

She needed to finish, and he needed to hear what she had to say.

"I understand your side of the story now, and I want you to know that I forgive you – for what you said to Aleera, for the pregnancy, all of it. I don't want to carry this around anymore."

"Thank you, Hera," was all he said. She had hoped he'd continue, but he remained silent, even a little impassive. Although his face didn't quite show it, her forgiveness moved him in a profound way.

"I still love you," she added a little sheepishly, eyes diverting down to the floor again, so she missed his reaction – a softening around the eyes and a hopeful smile. "And I—I know after all you've been through, well, you wouldn't have gone through what you did willingly if you hadn't loved me still, and after what you had said when we last spoke, I know you still do, although I have _no_ idea why… and this isn't at all what I had planned on telling you," she continued, the flush in her cheeks deepening by the second.

"I want to start over," Hera finally said after taking a deep, calming breath. "I know that's probably not what you had in mind, and even though I have no excuse any more for feeling hurt or used, I can't help but feel more… more cautious. Even though I know you and trust you more than I trust anyone else, I…"

At last, Dracula finally put her out of her misery and hushed her, a soft smile trailing on his lips. He reached out and took her hand in his, leading her into his arms so he could hold her close. He pulled her into his chest and sighed contentedly when she willingly leaned into his embrace. They stood there in silence for just an instant before he tenderly kissed the top of her head, and then rested his cheek on the spot.

"It's all right, Hera," he said softly, relishing in the feeling of having her in his arms at last. "If you wish to start over, I will more than happily comply."

He held the side of her face and pulled back so he could look into her eyes. His smile made warm tears rush down her cheeks and her heart fluttered.

"I'm just happy that I have you here with me."

She smiled up at him, gratitude and even a little confusion in her eyes as she looked back up at him.

"I don't understand you," she whispered through her tears.

He laughed.

"Nor I you. You were always a mystery to me," he teased, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "You still are," he added with a tender smile. "But we have time."

A comfortable silence lingered between them until the sound of Hera's phone ringing interrupted it.

"That's probably my father, wondering why I'm not home," she explained, reaching into his coat, which he was still holding.

"Well?"

"I'm psychic," she said with a laugh, brushing her tears from her face briskly as she brought the phone to her ear. "Hello? Hey. What's up?" Dracula motioned for her to wait a minute and she nodded, watching as he reentered his hotel room to put the coat away. "I'm in town. Why?... Well, I had something I needed to take care of… Hmm?... Oh, I'm with Vlad."

Dracula soon reemerged from his room with his keys in hand and he shut the door, instinctively taking Hera's arm and curling it around his.

"Tell him we ran into each other and I'm taking you to dinner."

"We ran into each other and he says he's taking me to dinner?" She sent him a peculiar look. He just smiled. "Yes, he's taking me out to dinner," she said, sounding a bit surprised. "No, I have no idea why."

"Tell him I'll have you home before midnight," he instructed once more, and Hera repeated the message to her father.

"He says thank you for keeping an eye out on me, and says he's willing to reimburse you for the gas that it'll take to get me home."

"Tell him that's…" he paused and reached for her phone as they entered the elevator. "May I?" Before she could protest, he had taken her phone. "Henry? Yes, this is Vlad. Look, that's completely unnecessary, and I wouldn't accept the money in any case... Yes, it's perfectly all right with me. It was my idea anyway... How'd she get down here? I'm not quite sure. I confess, I didn't ask."

He looked over at Hera for an answer.

"I hitched a ride with Jonnie who had to run some errands."

Vlad relayed the message and continued.

"Yes. Very well sir, I'll see to it that she does... All right... No, no, it's no trouble at all. My flight doesn't leave until late tomorrow afternoon and I'm having a taxi drive me to Heathrow after breakfast so sleep won't be a problem… I appreciate your concern, my friend, but I'll be fine... Yes… okay. Good night, Henry," and he hung up, handing the phone back to Hera, smirking slightly. "Your father is very protective of you," he mentioned idly as they made their way through the lobby and outside where he led Hera to the car.

"I know," was her answer. "I didn't realize you were leaving tomorrow."

"I had planned to leave the day after, but something came up at home."

"Oh," was all Hera said as he opened the passenger door for her. When he joined her in the car, she asked, "How long will you be away?"

"That's up to you," he replied truthfully as he inserted the keys and revved the engine. "How long would you like me gone?"

"I never said…"

"I'm teasing, Hera," he assured her with a smile. "The business I have with my estate will take a week tops."

"And then you'll come back?"

"Then I'll come back… and will stay as long as you'll have me."

She never said so, but Hera liked the sound of that.

"Well that's good, because I don't believe in long-distance relationships."

"Neither do I."

* * *

"Birthday?" was her first question. It should have been easy, but shockingly enough, it wasn't.

"You know, I can't remember."

"You can't remember your own birthday?" she chuckled.

"I know it's in November, and the year was obviously 1422…or maybe it was '32?" Hera laughed at how flustered he suddenly was. "I don't know, Hera! Ever since I became a mortal again, my memory isn't what it used to be."

"Well, you need a birthday, Vlad. What do you have on your driver's license?"

"November 13th."

"That works for me. Next question. Favorite color?"

" _Ooh_ , that's a tough one," he teased, watching as she chuckled once more. "I find I still prefer black – it's classic and always fashionable."

"I _never_ would have guessed," she played. "Alright then. Last book you read?"

" _The Master and Margarita_ by Mikhail Bulgakov."

"Last movie you watched?"

"I rarely ever go to the cinema, but some Jane Austen adaptation was on TV last night."

"Did you ever meet her in real life?"

"Yes, actually – at an assembly one evening in Bath; a rather unexpected encounter. She was a very clever woman – second only to you of course," he tacked on with a sly grin, loving the becoming flush in her cheeks. "As revolutionary as her work was, I was always a bit put-off by her male characters. Her heroes set an unprecedented standard for us men that is nearly impossible to reach. Take Mr. Darcy for instance, in _Pride and Prejudice_."

"I _love_ Mr. Darcy!"

"See, my point! Every woman on this bloody planet wants a Mr. Darcy – tall, dark, handsome, brooding, and disgustingly wealthy. The fact of the matter is, there is no such person."

Hera sent him a look that he read immediately and he held up his finger in defense.

"Don't even say it!"

"I was only going to say that by comparison…"

"Hera, don't."

"Fine."

"When do I get to ask you some questions?"

She smiled, taking a sip of her water.

"Later. Now then, next question. Classical or Rock?"

"Both," he answered without hesitation.

"But if you had to pick one…"

"But I can't pick one. It all depends on my mood. Most of the time, I suppose, I like prefer what you call classical: Mozart, Beethoven, Mahler, Chopin, Brahms, Tchaikovsky. Have you run out of questions yet?"

Hera's smile never seemed to fade.

"Of course not, but since you're so _eager_ to ask me a few…" and she motioned for him to begin.

Dracula straightened up in his seat and rubbed his hands together.

"Alright then. First question."

He watched as she leaned forward in her seat a little, her chin resting atop her folded hands, her eyes staring directly into his.

"Favorite film?"

" _Somewhere In Time_ with Jane Seymour and Christopher Reeves."

He smiled in approval.

"Marvel or DC?"

"I'm not much of a comic fan, although my friend Hailey is _obsessed_. But if I had to choose – probably Marvel."

"Cello or violin?"

"Violin."

"Favorite opera?"

"Anything Russian. I attended the Royal Opera House a few months ago to see _Prince Igor_ and absolutely _loved_ it!"

This went on back and forth for well over an hour until the food was gone and they were both still seated at their table tucked away in the corner, a half-empty empty bottle of wine between them.

"Okay then… hmm, what to ask you next?"

"Ask me anything, Vlad. I'm not afraid," she challenged as she narrowed her eyes playfully.

He paused for a moment, smiling wickedly.

"Very well, I have another question for you, although, admittedly, I hesitate to ask it. You don't have to answer this, but I've been wondering about something for the past hundred years or so and it's been eating away at me."

She motioned for him to continue and he took a deep breath as if to steady himself.

"All right. Of all the times we made love, which time did you enjoy the most?"

He watched as her eyebrows shot to her hairline and he regretted even asking in the first place.

 _Too soon, you fool_ , his conscience nagged.

"Never mind, it was a stupid question. Incredibly arrogant of me. I apologize," he said, quickly backtracking, but she surprised him when she held her hand up, motioning for him to stop talking, which he did. Hera thought about it for a moment or two, staring intently at the steaming cup of dessert tea in front of her, a faraway look in her eyes, until at last, she answered.

"The second time," she replied in hushed tones, still observing the faint billows of steam in front of her, unable to meet his gaze at first, her cheeks gently flushed. "Even though the circumstances could be considered the worst. But memories of that evening with you have haunted me ever since."

She finally looked up and they gazed into each other's eyes in silence, the chaotic noise of the restaurant surrounding them seeming to fade into the background, until all that existed was the two of them. It was very evident that he too was replaying the mentioned incident in his head at that moment and the look in his eyes made her feel suddenly warm.

"Me too," he whispered.

"And then there was that time after, with the piano."

"I remember."

"And the way you… as I played..."

"Yes."

"And then after…"

There was suddenly a beautiful tension between them, eyes fixed on the other as they both quietly relived the past in their minds. But the moment was interrupted when a neighboring woman tossed her glass of wine at her date and then stormed out, breaking the spell. Hera and Dracula chuckled away the awkwardness and soon the exchange picked up again from where it had left off. By the end of it, there was nothing but laughs and rich conversation – but despite the delightful evening, something had clearly changed between them.

Hera had become so unused to being natural around the Count that at the start of the evening, it had taken her a little while to grow accustomed to him again. By by the end of the night as he drove her home, though there was still a degree of hesitation for both parties, the conversations had started to flow more naturally and the air between them became less tense or awkward.

In the days that followed, especially upon Count Dracula's return, they acted more like old friends than anything else, both satisfied in conversing, spending time with one another, reminiscing on the past. The gradual improvement in their behavior towards one another was something that pleased Henry Garret immensely.

It wasn't until two weeks later that Hera and Dracula's relationship started to turn into what it had been before.

Although the Count took special care in taking things slowly this time around, there was an evident growing affection between he and Hera, something far more profound than what had existed previously. Dracula reached for her hand more often, and in more public settings, even when Hera's father was present. They ate out frequently, filling their long autumn afternoons with lively conversation and the occasional impromptu excursion through the countryside.

The pace was leisurely, unhurried, and for that, Hera was immensely grateful. Count Dracula's respect of her feelings and her person allowed her the chance to both heal and grow closer to him than she ever had been before.

Though he was very much as he ever was, he had also developed in ways Hera finally allowed herself to take note of. In the past, when he had delighted in pushing her boundaries and mercilessly seducing her, Dracula was now very careful, attentive, and never demanding, seemingly content in enjoying every simple moment, savoring it all without fear of discovery or interruption or condemnation.

This agreeable development continued on for the following two months, yet despite their deepening relationship, any physical signs of affection remained strictly platonic - perhaps the occasional brief kiss on the cheek or brow, but never anything beyond.

Part of it was because Dracula wanted to make sure Hera was all right with everything. When she had previously expressed her desire to take their time instead of rushing things as they had done before, he took her request as gospel and never pushed for anything beyond the simple acts of endearment that they were sharing right now.

There were instances when it was clear they both craved for more, but Hera was privately grateful that he continued being so considerate of her feelings, her fears, and her cautiousness.

Although she had loved the adventure and insatiable passion that their relationship had experienced before, she came to appreciate the more leisurely pace. And though he never expressed it, Dracula found himself feeling very much the same.

* * *

The Count came over for dinner on one particular evening at Henry's invitation and the three of them had spent the duration of the meal wildly conversing over current politics, thoroughly enjoying each other's company.

While Henry Garret was in the middle of one of his speeches again about how the present day could relate to the history of the past, Dracula found his gaze continually wandering over to Hera, who sitting across from him. She was so busy listening to her father, adding in her own comments and observations, that she was hardly aware of the Count's regard.

The woman was particularly charming this evening, Dracula noted silently to himself. Not only had her disposition improved tremendously, but her overall person had as well. She was far more pleasant than she had been before, and Henry had expressed to Dracula his delight in the change, inquiring if the Count himself knew of the reason.

Naturally, he denied everything, but Dracula had his suspicions, and with that thought a small curve tugged at the corner of his lips as he continued to observe her, watching as the woman's eyes lit up when she laughed, how she rested her chin on her fist, how several sultry looking locks of hair hung idly in her face, her hair pulled back into a careless bun. She was dressed to perfection, from the crown of her head, all the way down to her feet.

The woman seated before him had never looked lovelier.

True, she had always been beautiful to him, and undoubtedly would forever remain thus, but there was a particular aspect of her this evening that had grown exceptionally tempting to his eye: her lips.

It had been ages since he had kissed her, _really_ kissed her. Yes, the sweet simplicity of their present relationship was nice, but he was starting to ache for a change of pace, for the more vehement passion he had been deprived of over the last hundred years.

With every day that passed by, whether spent with her or not, that ache increased. Naturally, with how much he cared and respected Hera and being the gentleman he was, he never tried to persuade her or seduce her into anything that she wasn't ready for. In his mind, if she was ready, he would know. But the waiting never got easier, and watching her this evening, the way she moistened her lips with her tongue—it awakened a thirst that mere water could not quench.

Part of him – the old him – didn't care if she was ready for him to kiss her or not; he was going to do it.

"So Vlad, what do you think?" Henry suddenly asked, knocking Dracula out of his own private thoughts. Evidently, since he hadn't been paying any attention to the conversation for the last ten to fifteen minutes, he had to think on his toes.

"I think," he began casually as he placed his napkin on the table and pushed his chair back, "this meal has been exquisite, and the company, even more so," he said charmingly, earning a chuckle from Hera's father. "However, it is getting late, and I have a bit of a drive ahead of me."

Henry began to protest, but his words fell on deaf ears. Dracula's attention was fixed entirely on Hera. The woman said nothing, offered no complaint or objection. She simply looked up at him, a soft smile on her lips and an unknown look in her eyes. At last, the Garret's stood and Henry continued to talk as they escorted the Count to the door.

"I suppose we'll see you some other time this week?" Henry inquired.

"Oh, you can be sure of it," Dracula promised.

"Very well then. Good night, Vlad. Drive safe."

"I'll walk him out," Hera offered, moving through the door first and waiting for the Count to follow.

As soon as the door was shut, she began to make her way down the steps and towards his parked car just around the way, shaded from the moonlight.

"So," she began, glancing behind her briefly to make sure he was following, "I was thinking I'd drive down tomorrow and we could have lunch or something?" she offered.

He caught up with her quickly, soon walking beside her, reaching for her arm and curling his around her own, pulling her close.

"Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to spend the day in Whitby tomorrow," he suggested. "The weather is a bit too chilly to get in the water, but I understand the sea is beautiful this time of year, and I'm kind of in the mood for some seafood. I find I've been craving something rich and creamy - perhaps pasta with shrimp or even buttered crab. Or lobster. I haven't had lobster in a while. Maybe with some garlic toasted bread with a hint of Parmesan, an antique chardonnay. What do you think?"

Hera chuckled as they stopped in front of his car, and she placed her hand carelessly on his abdomen.

"With the way you eat, _Vladislaus_ ," she teased, "your 'godlike' physique is going to disappear…. If it hasn't already." She playfully lifted up the end of his shirt to check and smoothed her palm over his abdomen, not really thinking anything of it.

"Looks like it's still there to me," he commented with a shrug, glancing down at her hand before his eyes found hers.

Still smiling, she playfully punched his sculpted abs and chuckled.

"Yes, for now. Lucky you, you're still hard as a rock."

When she got caught in his gaze, the woman finally noticed that he wasn't laughing. In fact, a very different expression was on his face, and she recognized it instantly. Deep in his eyes was that old, familiar primitive hunger, a look she hadn't seen in _years_ , and as if a wave had just knocked her off her feet and swept her out to sea, a flood of emotions and memories came rushing back, and something hot ignited beneath her skin.

Without even thinking, she reached for the collar of his shirt just as he took hold of her face and then their mouths were colliding in a desperate kiss.

Unlike the addicting chill she had once been so accustomed to, his lips were warm, and his breath was hot, with a hint of chilling mint from the gum he had popped in his mouth after dinner. She felt her feet move and then her back was against the driver's side door of the car, and she was pinned between the automobile and his firm body.

Her insides melted as he kissed her, suckling her lips, teasing her before sliding his tongue inside. An unrestrained moan vibrated in the back of her throat when his molten tongue caressed the depths of her mouth, several rounds of chills shooting through her body as a dizzying need clouded her senses. It didn't take long until all she could feel was his mouth and those large hands smoothing along her sides and then up her back.

Their kisses seemed to last forever until at last, Dracula broke away, a breathless expression on his face as he stared deep into her eyes, eager to catch her reaction.

"I wish you had done that sooner," Hera whispered, her lips brushing against his as she spoke, their foreheads resting against one another's.

Dracula groaned loudly, certainly not reluctant to show his annoyance.

"Christ, woman, _why_ didn't you tell me that earlier?!"

"I'm sorry," she laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I guess I liked you being all sweet and leisurely. I didn't want to give it up."

He rolled his eyes, chuckling to himself.

"You haven't given it up, Hera," and he kissed her one more time, much softer than before, gently teasing her with his tongue before pulling her close and whispering, "I forgot how good you tasted," then he pressed his lips against hers again, holding both sides of her face for a moment before letting his fingers run through her hair, each kiss gradual and carefully taken.

Hera just sighed, letting him do as he pleased, mimicking his movements as she kissed him back.

A few minutes later, Dracula finally found the strength to pull away.

"You may want to go back inside before your father wonders what happened to you."

"You mean before you push me into your car and kidnap me?"

"Oh, don't temp me, woman…"

Hera laughed quietly before kissing him one last time and then she left him there, making her way to the house. Before entering, she turned back to look at him, watching as he climbed into his car and pulled up in front of her. "I love you," he said, leaning forward, his head sticking out through the open window.

Hera smiled.

"I love you, too. Call me when you get home?"

He nodded and stared at her for just a little longer as if committing this moment to memory before finally driving off into the night.


	60. Need

**Shout out to those who reviewed over the weekend! -** Madam Silver **,** Scarlet Empress **,** BornRose2 **,** the invisible reader **,** alexc1209 **,** Bloodsired **,** She-Devil Red **,** Guest **,** Cosmopolitan Countess **,** ForsakenStar22 **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** 12345678910 **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** ShadowSpade **,** RegencyPoet **,** Kiriari **,** AnimeFan001 **, and** Nyx-Arae **. You guys continue to just blow me away with your support and unflinching kindness and truly I can't thank you enough!**

 **I think I caught all the errors in this one, but if I missed any - I apologize.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **LX**

 _ **Need**_

The air outside was crisp and cool, a gentle breeze rustling through the thick, dark green foliage of the grounds surrounding Hera's home. A comfortable silence hung between them as they walked side-by-side, Dracula instinctively reaching for Hera's hand, taking it in his before giving it a gentle squeeze and smiling to himself when he felt her respond in kind.

Life, he figured, could not get any better than this.

It had been over three months since his path had crossed Hera's again and although he'd never understand why the heavens had permitted this miracle to occur, Dracula never questioned it. Having Hera's hand in his made him feel almost weightless. All the human emotions he had been able to hide from her when they had first met over a century ago had become more evident and visible, and although he wasn't fond of being an open book to anyone, he decided that Hera was permitted to be the only exception.

In a way, she always had been, and forever would be.

Hera was the only person on earth he could truly be himself around, and although at times he'd habitually cling to his mask of invulnerability, she consistently managed to find a way to take it off of him. No matter what beast or demon had ever laid behind it, she would see him for _who_ he was instead of _what_ he was—or rather _had_ been, and it made him love her more.

They continued to walk in silence around the gardens, comfortable with the lack of conversation. Hera's father had been out of town for the past few days now, having left earlier in the week for Madrid, which gave Hera and the Count an ample amount of alone time.

To be polite, Dracula would be sure to leave the house in the evening, never wanting to appear improper or to take advantage of Henry Garret's trust – something the butler secretly admired. But doing so proved to be a challenge each time as he would then climb into his car, the remnants of Hera's kisses still fresh on his lips as he drove back to his flat in Lancaster.

Fortunately, that thirty or so minute drive from Hera's home was infinitely better than the two hour drive between the Garret estate and Leeds, and so Dracula couldn't bring himself to complain.

The investment had always been worth it, but gas and the amount of time it took to get there was costly and so was the sleep he lost from driving—that was certainly an aspect of mortality that he didn't like.

He missed being physically capable of staying awake for days at a time without difficulty. That, and flying to and from the Garret estate would have been much faster than driving. But in the end, if being mortal meant being with Hera, he could and would live with the challenges of transportation and the inconvenient need for an adequate night's sleep.

Dracula glanced over at Hera momentarily as they continued to walk, her hair flowing lightly in the wind, brushing against her cheek and neck.

Soft.

That's how her hand felt in his, the warm skin of her palm caressing against his, their fingers entwined. He looked away from her for a moment and stared blankly ahead of him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Hera felt softer, he observed silently to himself. Her body had matured and toned out. He had thought she had been in her prime all those years ago, but he had been wrong. Memories floated about in his head as if they were one, each relating to Hera—the times he had touched her.

Her lips had grown notably smoother, like satin. Her mouth was lovely as ever, but her lips almost seemed a little fuller to him, her taste sweeter, her tongue hotter. Her figure was even more pleasing than he remembered it being and she had a healthy glow to her pleasantly smooth flesh, gently tanned from her daily walks outdoors.

How he longed to touch that skin more, to let his hands voyage over every silky inch and supple curve, then to have his lips follow after in hot pursuit. He wanted to watch the little goose-bumps appear on her skin as the cool air nipped at her; then he wanted to watch the fine down hairs on her neck raise on end as white cotton sheets caressed her, whilst his tongue traveled over the twin peaks he could scarcely remember tasting.

Being mortal brought on new sensations and observances that he knew he had never experienced before as a vampire. As an immortal, he had taken those sensations for granted, never savoring them to their fullest potential. Oh how he yearned to rectify that.

Dracula longed to taste her skin, her essence. He wanted to feel the honeyed flesh smother his lips, drag down his throat, and then burn his erection. He wanted to touch every inch of her body, to stare into her eyes and watch as she reacted to him. He wanted to feel her, as he had never done so before, to feel her pumping in his veins and melting inside his body.

All these thoughts on sex made a soft flush appear on his cheeks and his hands started to heat up. Hera must have noticed this, because she glanced over at him, a curious smile on her lips.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, wrapping her arm around his in an effort to be closer to him. "Tell me?"

"I was… um… _contemplating_ on how different things are as a mortal versus being a vampire," he answered truthfully, deciding to keep the scorching fantasies to himself.

"And how is it different? Besides the obvious things like having to sleep, not being able to fly, and not needing to drink blood," she added with a smirk.

"I had always thought I had been more observant of sensations and surroundings when I was a vampire, but being mortal, I notice things now that I never really did before."

"Perhaps it was because you had become so used to the experiences only vampires have that the simple pleasures of being a mortal…"

"…never really occurred to me," he finished for her. "Yes, that may be one reason."

"What kinds of things are different?" she urged, clearly wanting examples, eager to understand him. That thought made something warm flood in his chest and he brought her closer to him as they stopped walking.

"Simple things really, things I always took for granted. The taste of food, the heat of the sun, a cool breeze…" and he pulled her into his arms as he leaned back against a nearby tree, feeling her snuggle her face into his broad chest.

He smiled softly and kissed the top of her head.

"The feeling of your warm hand in my own, of you wrapped in my arms, your steady breathing, the vibrations of your heartbeat against my chest, yours and mine both drumming to a similar rhythm."

She took one of his hands in hers and brushed her lips against his knuckles.

"The feeling of your mouth against my skin… it sends chills down my spine and makes my skin crawl in ways I've never felt before."

"Mmm, maybe it's because you're in love with me," she teased, trailing his index finger over her lips, the tip of her tongue caressing the digit.

"No," he whispered, his voice husked. "This is different. I got chills around you before, but never anything like this."

"What is this like?" she asked him, her voice still soft, although her tone had changed.

She took the end of his finger completely in her mouth now, gently raking her dull teeth over the moist digit as she pulled it out and she felt him shudder against her. A familiar mischievous glint appeared in her eyes.

She knew _exactly_ what she was doing.

"What is it like, Vlad?" she inquired once more. "How do you feel?"

 _Hard,_ was the first thing that came to his mind. _Harder than a bloody diamond._ But instead of answering her intended question, he hooked his finger over her bottom teeth, pulling her mouth closer to his.

"I want you to do that to my tongue."

"Mmm, I was definitely thinking of doing that to something else…" but he interrupted her with a kiss before she could finish the deliciously filthy suggestion.

Their kisses were passionate and without shame beneath the large oak tree.

Hera's arms linked around his neck, pulling him closer to her as she traded places with him against the trunk, her fingers knotted in his hair while Dracula's hands traveled leisurely over her hips and up her stomach. He ached to touch her breasts, to take them in his hands and just feel them, but he bridled himself, moving his hands back down to her waist as they continued to kiss.

Temptation crossed his path once again when he felt the breeze pick up slightly, the wind rustling through Hera's skirt.

 _Her skirt_.

Before he could even think, his hands were already smoothing up her thighs and beneath the cotton material, his fingers inching towards the waistband of her panties. Instinct told him to grind into her, so he did, his hips moving of their own volition as the kisses became headier.

Hera had felt the Count's hands smoothing up her legs beneath her skirt, but nothing could have prepared her for the erection now rubbing against her. He was hard and hot and the sensation of him between her legs was so new, yet familiar to her, and it sent a shock wave of liquid warmth through her body as something divine flooded inside of her, heating her core.

She was melting already, the experience long forgotten, but it didn't take long for her to recall how fantastic it could all be and it made her open her legs a bit wider to better accommodate his grinding hips, her hands now resting on his waist. All she could do was drink in the friction, getting wetter with every wave-like motion of his body moving against hers.

It was so strange, feeling him against her, aware of how the temperature of his skin increased as his breath caressed her neck while instinct took over the two of them. A realized feeling of deprivation had been awakened and it made everything intensify. The sensation and the hints of pleasure stole Hera's breath and while she got wetter, he only seemed to get harder.

He was so ready, itching to peel off her panties and take her right here against this tree, and he almost did, but he stopped himself, and it all ended rather abruptly.

"No," he gasped, panting for breath when he broke their kiss and he rested his brow against hers, clearly straining for control. "Not here, Hera… not here."

"Then let's go inside," she whispered, her sultry hair and hungry eyes making the temptation nearly irresistible. Her breathing was heavy, causing her breasts to rise and fall in deep movements. A small glow radiated off her skin, the thinnest sheen of perspiration reflecting the fading sunlight. And yet to the shock of them both, he resisted still.

"Not in your father's house, I couldn't," he insisted, distancing himself from her just a little bit more. "I'm sorry I nearly lost control," he added, ready to offer every apology he could give her, but she made an attempt to stop him.

"Vlad, really. It's not your fault."

"I don't want to take advantage of you, Hera… not after everything."

That seemed to cool them both off rather abruptly.

Hera looked up at him, an unreadable expression on her face.

She wasn't angry or confused, just…she hardly knew what she was feeling. His better judgment took the back seat as a need to explain himself seemed to hijack his mouth.

"I'm so afraid to ruin what we have – like if I don't tread carefully, I could misstep and then lose you forever."

"Vladislaus."

She smiled sweetly and reached out, her fingertips brushing over his pulsating lips.

Part of her was touched by his bewildering sense of restraint, but in that moment she found herself missing the old him – the dominant, selfish, pushy, boundary-crossing vampire she had originally fallen head-over-heels in love with. His constant need for dominance she had once found so thrilling, exciting, and euphoric even and now more than ever did she want to pull that back out of him - even if it was just a little bit.

But the poor man was even more anxious than she was, so nervous that one wrong move would send everything crashing down around them. Like she had needed so many times before, he suddenly needed encouragement, affirmation. So she caressed his cheek with the back of her hand, allowing her smile to move all the way up to her eyes.

" _Nothing_ can ruin what we have," she whispered. "And although this new sense of restraint of yours leaves me utterly dumbfounded," she added with a chuckle, "I don't want you to change completely, Vlad. I loved you when you were a bit greedy and dominating, shameless and wild. What makes you think that what I feel for you now would be any different from what I felt then?"

"I just want to be worthy of you."

"And you are. Don't ever doubt it. Vladislaus, I love the man that you have become - truly, I do. But I also loved you before - what makes you think that would change?"

"What I was before nearly destroyed us."

"Perhaps - but you're not the same man as before. If anything, you are better. You have become what I always knew you could and you did it on your own... but, Vladislaus, I don't need you to sacrifice who you are because you think it's what I want."

He smiled.

"Point taken."

"I just need _you_. Not a version of you or some watered-down alternative. I need you, _want_ you as you are - imperfections and all."

Dracula caressed the side of her face with thoughtfulness as she continued to lean against him, studying his eyes for a quiet moment before she began to lean forward, lips inching towards his again.

"Vlad, I need…"

But before she could even begin to convince him just how much she wanted, no – _needed_ to be taken and possessed by him, the moment was shattered when someone yelled:

"Hera! Hera!"

The two of them turned to see Jonnie, the housekeeper, running from the house and into the gardens.

"Over here!"

"Miss, your father is on the phone," the woman panted, stopping a ways away in an effort to respect what was left of Hera and Dracula's privacy.

"I'll be there in a second," Hera promised, looking up at the Count.

"Miss, it's an international call."

Hera went to protest, but Dracula smiled.

"It's all right. I should be heading back anyway."

"But…"

"Miss Hera, in the house!"

Hera grumbled something obscene under her breath and started to make her way back inside, the Count following after her.

"Vlad, stay… this shouldn't take long."

"That's what you said last time and you were on the phone for over an hour," he teased. "Don't worry about it; I'll see you tomorrow," he then promised. François was outside in the driveway with the wireless phone in his hand. "Jonnie, could you grab my coat and keys please?"

"Of course, Master Vlad."

François handed the phone to Hera, who was looking a bit annoyed.

"Hello? Hi Papa... Interrupting anything? _No_ , of course not," and she rolled her eyes, smiling at Dracula as he leaned against his car, laughing. "Oh, weather's fine here… kinda chilly. How's Madrid? Mhmm."

Jonnie soon reemerged from the house and gave Dracula his things while Hera continued to talk on the phone. Despite her silent begging and pouty faces – which he thought were hilarious – he quickly kissed her goodbye, climbed into his car, and swore up and down that he'd drop by tomorrow to see her.

Hera watched as the sleek black car disappeared around the bend of the drive before she started paying attention to what her father was actually saying over the phone.

"I wish you had come with me, Hera," Henry Garret continued on the other line a good hour or two later. "I know we've been to Madrid before, but I remember how much you enjoyed it last time, and the weather here, the atmosphere—it's utterly charming, love. You'd really enjoy it."

"I'm certain," she said. "But you know why I didn't go with you."

"Yes, yes. You're finally finishing up that biography on Count Dracula. Is Vlad of any help to you?"

"Of course he is!" she exclaimed. "It's so much easier now that I have a primary source!" The silence on the other end informed Hera of her slip of the tongue and she quickly corrected herself. "I mean, uh… secondary source. It's not like he's the _real_ Count Dracula." She laughed nervously. "Just his ancestor."

Luckily, Henry let her mistake slide and he chuckled as well.

"Yes. If I had discovered that a five century-old vampire was pursuing you, Hera, we'd have a problem."

She felt her heart skip a beat, even though she knew her father was teasing.

 _Good thing he isn't a vampire anymore, then,_ she thought to herself.

"How is Vlad, anyway? Have you seen him lately?"

"Actually, he just left before you called."

"Is that so? What did you two do today?"

"He was just telling me stories," she fibbed.

It was shocking how easy it was to lie to her father about Dracula. She had no idea why, but she wasn't ready to admit to her own father that she was in love with the man. That realization bothered her and a crinkle appeared on her brow as she finally moved inside the house and sat down at the foot of the staircase, all alone in the foyer.

"Papa, there's something I need to tell you," Hera began, but Henry interrupted her before she could even start.

"Sweetheart, I need to go. Something's just come up. I'll call you tomorrow, all right?"

"All right."

"Sleep well, love. And when you see Vlad again, send him my regards."

"Of course."

"And thank him for me for keeping an eye on you."

" _Father!_ "

"I love you, Hera."

"I love you, too."

"Bye."

Henry's line was disconnected before Hera could even utter her farewell, not that it mattered. She sat there at the foot of the stairs for several minutes in silence after the call had ended, lost in the mire of her own thoughts.

Why couldn't she admit to her father that she was in love with the Count? Her father knew how fond they had become of each other, but why couldn't she confess her feelings to be more than she led on?

What had happened in the gardens almost two hours ago left Hera with a new sense of knowledge.

She loved him to be certain. There was no doubt of that in her mind.

But that unquenchable passion still existed between them and this information made Hera's mind run wild with the possibilities.

She'd be the last person on earth to deny that her new relationship with Dracula was so much better than before. Not only did she _not_ have to compete with three gorgeous women with pointy teeth and inferiority complexes, the trust between them was infinitely better than before. They didn't have to hide or fight their feelings for each other. For the first time ever, they were allowed to be genuinely open and honest.

Even more so, they seemed to respect one another more than before. They laughed more often, he was more kind and attentive. There was something beautiful in the way Dracula had changed.

Mortality made him more thoughtful, pensive, and meticulous. His kisses were always carefully taken, yet they never lacked passion. He always reached for her hand, eager to be in contact with her in some way. He made sure to look directly into her eyes when they talked, and when he spoke his mind, it was with love and tact, and then would listen intently to what she had to say. All of this was a beautiful change, but in the back of Hera's mind had been a nagging question: did the passion still exist?

She had gotten her answer this evening, and it sent a thrill through her body.

He didn't just love her – he still _wanted_ her, too, although it was also clear he was terrified of making that first move.

Hera realized that a part of her had always suspected that he still wanted her, but having tangible proof of just how much made the fire hotter and the truth even sweeter. Hera moved unconsciously up the stairs to her bedroom, planning on getting ready to retire for the evening, but when she entered her room, she didn't dress for bed.

Instead she was suddenly possessed with a bought of temporary insanity, and she grabbed her purse and a simple change of clothes before shoving them into a bag, snatching her keys off the desk, and racing downstairs and outside towards her car, just as it started to rain.


	61. Want

**DISCLAIMER: ... do I really need to say it? ;) Well - if the ending of the last chapter or the mere title of this chapter didn't make it obvious enough, today's installment contains a sex scene. Granted, it's not _nearly_ as explicit or lengthy as the last two, but still - if that's not your cup of tea, skip to the end.**

 **Many thanks to** She-Devil Red **,** Madam Silver **,** the invisible reader **,** BornRose2 **,** Scarlet Empress **,** Bloodsired **,** alexc1209 **,** 12345678910 **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** ShadowSpade **,** Cosmopolitan Countess **, and** ForsakenStar22 **for reviewing chapter 60 yesterday :) I can't believe this story is only 53 reviews away from 1,000! Seriously, you guys are AMAZING!** *HUGS* **But whether we make it to 1k or not, I hope you know that I am immensely appreciative of all the wonderful feedback you have been giving this story. Your commentary and critiques have all been INCREDIBLY helpful and I can't thank you enough.**

 **But we'll save the lengthy thanks for Friday. On to the chapter!**

* * *

 **LXI**

 _ **Want**_

Dracula absently turned the deadbolt on the door as the darkness of the front room enveloped him for a brief moment. Taking a deep, calming breath, he blindly reached for the light switch on the wall, switching on a neighboring lamp, offering his mortal eyes the much-needed assistance. He discarded his wallet and keys on the side table before placing his gloves in his coat pocket, thus proceeding to hang it up on the stand.

The Count never thought he had it in him—that kind of self-control—and although he had left the Garret estate feeling far from sated, he was satisfied with himself, pleased that he was taking the precautions he had been and that he still had the strength to do so.

Making his way through the small entryway, he proceeded through another door, which led to the inside of his apartment. The styling was modern with a nice classic touch that fit his personality effortlessly - from the gorgeous baby grand piano by the far window, down to the plush carpeting. The décor wasn't as extravagant as he would have preferred, but it was masculine and elegant, and the simplicity suited him.

Clicking on the TV for background noise, he then made his way into the bedroom, not really knowing why. He flicked on the light, letting its glow illuminate the space as he unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt, pausing when his eyes caught a glimpse of a picture on the desk against the wall opposite of his bed.

It was a picture of Hera he had taken on one of their many outings, this one being of their excursion through some of the Lake Country. He picked up the print and tacked it to the corkboard on the wall, relishing in her smile as he removed his shoes.

She had a beautiful smile, and this one in particular was one of her rarest. It was the kind that adorned her face when she was contemplative and serene. He gently ran his thumb over the glossy colored paper, imagining the flushed satin of her cheek beneath his fingertip.

With a sigh, he left the bedroom and took a seat on the oversized leather sofa in the living room, reaching for the remote. He channel surfed and nursed a glass of red wine for the next hour or so, more lost in his thoughts than the flashing images on the television screen.

But it was when he thought he heard the doorbell ring that his ears perked up, his back straightening.

Making a face, he glanced over at the glowing time on the microwave. It was awfully late in the evening. Who could be calling on him at this hour? Dismissing it for his imagination, he leaned back in the sofa again and continued to flip through the channels when the doorbell rang once more.

No, this wasn't his imagination. Muting the television, he stood.

"Just a minute!"

Within a matter of strides, he reached the front door, just as the bell rang a third time. What he discover standing out in the hallway was certainly what he hadn't been expecting to find.

Perhaps he had fallen asleep on the couch?

"Hera?"

His tone was perplexed and he watched as a rather soaked-through Hera, who looked as though she had been standing out in the rain for a while, remained cemented in the hallway of the apartment complex, soaking the carpet beneath her as the ends of her clinging clothing and tousled hair dripped.

"What are you doing here? Is everything all right? And why on earth are you sopping wet?"

He didn't know why, but he always felt nervous whenever she showed up unexpectedly at his door. It was as if he was subconsciously preparing for the worst.

He'd have to break that habit.

Hera had nodded once, but remained silent. She didn't seem to have anything with her as well; only her keys and what was on her back. Although his immediate reaction was that something was terribly wrong, his anxiety melted away when he noticed the healthy glow on her skin, the soft, breathless expression on her face, and the beautiful fire in her sharp eyes.

"I needed to ask you a question," she finally said.

There was something peculiar about her tone. It wasn't the soft spoken-ness she had acquired over the past eight years, the tone he had gotten so used to over these last few months.

No.

This was something else—something much more familiar, something he hadn't witnessed in decades, and it made a warm tingle shoot down his spine.

"You could have called me," he insisted, although his attention on what she was saying was already beginning to waver. He was far too intrigued with the look in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, the way she lightly bit her lower lip.

"I needed to see you," was her excuse. "Vladislaus, you love me."

It was no longer a question, more of a statement. But he nodded reassuringly anyway.

"Utterly and completely."

"You need me as much as I need you."

"Yes," was his answer, his tone earnest, yet quiet.

But her next question changed everything.

Hera moved inside the apartment and placed her keys on the table beside them, her face a mere three inches from his as she stared directly into his eyes.

"And do you want me as much as I want you?"

This time it was a question.

She was unsure and she needed affirmation.

Vlad reached around her and quietly shut the door, watching as a shuddering breath escaped her lips when the sound of the deadbolt clicked into place. He then placed his palm flat on the door before reaching up with his remaining hand, his thumb trailing over her lips. He subconsciously moistened his own as his heart began to thud faster and faster in his chest, threatening to explode out of his ribcage. Every erotic fantasy, every memory of those times he had slept with her in the past bombarded his conscious mind.

He knew what she had come for.

She wanted it just as bad as he did. Neither of them could wait any longer. Their period of abstinence had lasted long enough.

"No," he whispered intensely, his answer taking her aback for a split second, before he continued: "I want you _infinitely_ more."

Leaning forward before she could even respond, he took her lips with his, pressing his mouth avidly against her own as every wall was torn down and the unrestrained passion that both believed had died ages ago was suddenly reignited—a fire that would never again extinguish.

Dracula pushed her roughly against the door as he ravaged her, letting her wet fingers knot in his hair as she kissed him back, melting from the heat of his tongue as it plundered the inside of her hot mouth.

"Promise me one thing?" she panted as he pushed off her jacket, suddenly possessed with a familiar hunger he hadn't felt in an age.

"Anything."

"Don't be gentle."

Dracula felt something pop inside his brain and old instincts washed over him in a dark and delicious wave.

"Hera..." he began in warning, but she interrupted him.

"Don't question me. Just fuck me."

All of the blood in his body seemed to flood straight between his legs and his expression grew wolfish.

"Be careful what you wish for, spitfire," he purred and then he was all over her, hands rough, lips demanding, and she melted beneath him.

Soon he was lifting up her legs so she'd wrap them around his waist. Placing one hand on the door behind her to keep himself standing, he then wrapped an arm beneath her buttocks to keep her up on top of him, soon very aware of the explosion of heat between her thighs. Despite her cool and damp clothes, Hera was on fire and the feeling of having her around his waist, their bodies grinding instinctively - he groaned loudly into her mouth when she tugged at the roots of his hair.

Arousal as a mortal man seemed infinitely more powerful than it had as a vampire… or maybe it was because he hadn't felt arousal quite like this in over a hundred years? It didn't matter. The thrill, the excitement of it all had him reeling, barely able to stand on his own two feet. He had to grip the wall to stay upright.

Hera's entire body shivered with excitement when she felt him hard between her legs, that poignant shaft shoved right between her thighs where she knew that he was aware she could feel it. Her legs tightened a bit more around his waist and he responded by shoving her back against the door just a bit more so he could grind against her, the friction overwhelming. The word _fuck_ sang like a chorus within Dracula's head, growing louder and more persistent as his heart raced.

The Count's fingers itched to take her clothes off, but it had been so long – he hardly knew where to start. His brain was screaming at him to slow down and savor this, but instinct was telling him to claim her right here against the door.

Taking the initiative, Hera's eager hands grabbed hold of the front of his shirt and she tore it open impatiently, his eyes widening as she ripped the material off his body, popping buttons and sending them scattering across the floor. Her arms and legs wrapped tighter around him as she went for his mouth again. When their lips met, her breasts hit the wall of his chest.

Heaven forgive him, but he wanted nothing more than to just take her against the door. Standing up was certainly a position they hadn't tried before and he was more than eager to do it now, but his brow crinkled and he shook his head as he fought internally.

No… not against the door. Not after all this time, after all this waiting.

Still struggling to stay balanced on his own two feet, Dracula made a desperate attempt to get to the bedroom. He wouldn't be able to maintain this level of self-control for much longer; he at least had to make it there. But when her hands snuck down to his waist, undoing his belt, his body temperature skyrocketed and he started to sweat. He had to touch her. He couldn't keep holding her up like this.

Dracula spied the large sofa across from him and he inwardly surrendered.

It would have to do.

Crossing the room in three strides, he put her down on the floor before peeling off her sopping wet blouse and skirt, and then he eased her down on the oversized sofa, leaning over her with those defiant strands of hair falling forward. She lifted her hand, touching the black waves, watching with anticipation as he finished pulling his belt from the loops of his pants, dropping it on the floor.

"Just so you know, I don't have any kind of protection. So you could get pregnant," he cautioned her, although _nothing_ could stop them now.

He continued to hover over her, a silent menace, and her heart beat faster in her chest. Her back arched and her breasts were thrust out as she brought her knees up and lifted her hips off the sofa, imagining him kissing the insides of her thighs, finding her sex with his mouth. Licking her.

A moan escaped her as she grew impatient.

"I don't care!" she exclaimed, reaching for him. "Don't you _dare_ try and talk me out of this! I want it! I want _you…_ oh God, Vlad… it _aches_ ," she groaned, the anticipation for the pleasure she knew was about to come driving her insane.

A twisted grin tugged his lips, his blood pumping and cock throbbing as if it had its own heartbeat. Despite the cordial and rather moral behavior that he had displayed over the past few months, the old Dracula, the dominating, selfish, arrogant, sex-hungry Dracula was finally given permission to be set free.

A growl vibrated in his chest like the one that had when he was a vampire and every vein and tendon in his body tingled. He bent down over her, every hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Her breath was sweet and minty and he captured her lips roughly with his mouth, stealing her in a smoldering kiss that made her breathless and weak, just where he wanted her.

After kissing her thoroughly, he dragged his tongue down her neck, tugging the roots of her wet hair lightly in an effort to get her to arch her spine. When she thrust her breasts out, he slid his hand over her smooth, warm skin. Her belly was flat, and he spanned most of it with his large hand, filling the space between her hipbones, and then he was tracing the edges of her bra with his fingertips before cupping the creamy swells in his hands. They filled his large palms, her nipples tight buds underneath the soft, damp satin and he unconsciously licked his lips, knowing _exactly_ what he was going to do.

Dracula reached behind her, fingers smoothing up her spine before undoing the clasps of her bra and freeing her from the cold material. He took her in both of his arms, lifting her closer to him and then his mouth went to work, soon trying to take more and more of her stunning bosom into his mouth.

"More," she whispered, fingers in his hair and he smiled against her skin.

"Still greedy, I see."

"You're a terrible influence, darling," she teased, though her words were soon lost to the moan breaking free from her throat when his lips latched onto her again.

"Is that so?"

"Oh please... like you're even surprised," she said with a laugh, gripping his hair so she could bring his face back up to hers. She kissed him fiercely only to cry out in surprise when his fingers slipped behind the waistband of her panties and between her silken folds unexpectedly. When he thrust a single digit inside of her, she swore.

"You feel tighter," he noted.

"You were the last man I ever..." but her words were interrupted when he added a second finger and she undulated beneath him as he sat there, studying her with an intensity that made her blush as he worked her. "What are you thinking?" she managed, trying to make sense of his expression.

"I miss being able to dip into your mind, to know what you're feeling, what you want, what feels good."

"Trust me, this feels good," Hera assured him. He leaned his head forward and kissed her fully before his lips found the side of her neck; then he lightly bit her shoulder and she sighed. "That feels even better."

He suckled and caressed, in love with the way she moved beneath him, her whimpers of delight melting in his ears. The Count wanted to kiss her mouth again, but he was rapidly descending past the place of anything soft or gentle as the rhythm of his fingers intensified, so he worshiped her breasts with his tongue for a short moment and then moved down to her stomach. When he got to the waistband of her panties, he removed his hand from within them so he could draw the scanty material off her legs in one pull, smirking when he noticed how she was now gripping the back of the sofa in anticipation.

Dracula felt something in his head pop as the scent of her sex reached him in a fresh wave. He was perilously close to orgasm already, his release poised in his shaft, body trembling with the need to take her. He put his hand between her thighs again, fingers teasing as he warred with himself. Crazed though he was, he _had_ to taste her before he invaded her... it had been an age.

Hera was undone in a matter of moments, mewling her deep approval and her insatiable need for more as his tongue ravished her and soon there was no doubt in his mind that she was loving this as much as he was. Dracula's mouth drew in on her core, sucking and licking a little frantically as he wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her still while keeping her hips elevated, legs over his shoulders. She writhed in his hold, but he kept her still with his arms until she tumbled over the precipice at least twice for him.

God, he had missed this, he thought numbly, her whimpers and cries of pleasure sending him reeling.

When he finally took her, overcome with his need to consume her completely, he let out a bellow of ecstasy as every nerve in his body came to life. Hera was flushed, eyes wide and dazed, her expression breathless, and when his hips took that next thrust, her nails scored his back and they both groaned together. The way he repeatedly sheathed himself into her body with one powerful stroke after another felt like utter perfection and Dracula didn't have to read his lover's mind to know what this meant to her. The single elated tear spilling from the corner of his Hera's eye said everything.

Dracula's skin tingled and his face contorted as he pumped more rhythmically into her, everything a delirious blur. All that was felt was skin – hot and wet – sliding in a movement that was liquid and feral. He could scarcely remember a time he had felt so good, so powerful and yet so helpless all at once. The sounds that left Hera's lips inspired him, making the thrust of his hips more purposeful.

The tension mounted, his spine tingled, his skin crawled and he held his breath, concentrating on the heat of her skin melting into his, the ferocity of the erotic sensation of her insides milking him, the sound of her own pleasure as she held tightly to him, the nails of her right hand digging the flesh of his back.

It was too much – all of it was just too much and he wanted to kiss her, wanted it all to last just a little bit longer, but before he could even place his mouth over hers so he could swallow the sound of her release, it happened.

Something had been unleashed inside of him and it was beyond the unreal orgasm that was now shuddering through his body. For the first time in his life, Count Dracula felt free.

It was as if something had had him bound in chains, something that had been holding him back. That feeling of hopeless oppression was gone, and now... now he had been liberated.

Hera had set him free.

Hera had released him.

Heaven. Now he knew, _really_ knew what it was like.

* * *

Dracula awoke some time later in his bed in the wee hours of the early morning, the sky outside still dark as the sun prepared to rise. He was pleased to find that Hera remained beside him, although surprisingly wide awake, her fingers tracing over every contour of his face in thoughtful silence.

They never said anything – just lied there, staring until she tucked her body closer to his, his arm resting over her side as she draped her leg over his hip, the linens of his bed barely keeping them decent.

The Count's long fingers gently stroked up and down the smooth curve of her surprisingly sensitive back, loving how her spine arched, her front pressing against him as shuddering lips hovered just inches from his. Other than the occasional shiver that made its way through her from his light caressing, she was motionless, silent, and content as she lay beside him.

He felt so warm – his skin, his breath. Hera had wondered if being deprived of the old, familiar cool his body had offered her before would bother her, but she loved how warm he was. She loved how his chest rose and fell with hers – how she could feel the steady beating of his heart.

Hera took one of his hands and reverently kissed his palm. He glanced down at her, surprised by the sign of affection, but he didn't say anything. There was no longer a need for words between them. A smile tugged at the corners of his thin lips as he wrapped his arms just a little tighter around her, loving how she buried her face into the space between his chest and his neck before drifting off to sleep.

This is how he always wanted it to be, for the rest of his days. Falling asleep with his Hera in his arms.

Forever.

Always.

He could feel himself drifting again, the gentle pattering of the rain against the window and the sound of Hera's quiet, steady breathing lulling him back into a deep and pleasure-filled sleep.


	62. A Plan to Advance

**So because you guys are so flipping amazing, you get two chapters today. HOORAY!**

 **Well, that's not the only reason why I'm posting two today - chapters 62 and 63 kind of go together thematically** (or at least, they go together better than with any other of the remaining chapters) **, so it just makes sense. That means that 64 will go up tomorrow and 65** (the final and concluding chapter) **will go live Friday morning PT.**

 **I know several of you were wondering what could possibly happen between these two in 4 chapters - well, a great many things. The possibilities are endless, really. But there's something very specific these two need to experience together before I can end the story. So without further ado...**

 **ENJOY!**

* * *

 **LXII**

 _ **A Plan to Advance**_

Hera exhaled loudly as she finished typing the final page.

She was tired, worn out from the journey, the countless hours it had taken her to finish. But at last, with a final sentence and the concluding period, it was complete. Done at last. Hera leaned back in the hard, wooden chair and craned her neck, the action causing a small pop to resound, followed by a long sigh.

Her eyes scanned the last paragraph, a small smile appearing on her face as she saved her book to the computer and then again to the memory stick plugged into the USB drive. She had started this biography of sorts when she was a pre-teen – a little scrawny thing with wide-eyes and big dreams. Finding information on the legendary and oh so mysterious Count Dracula had been a burden, a curse… and her greatest joy.

She wouldn't tell him she had finished.

She wasn't even sure she wanted it published.

Finishing the book had been more of a sentimental journey of sorts, and although every article contained was fact, she knew the world would assume it was a work of fiction.

In this day and age, vampires didn't exist. Men did not drink the blood of their enemies. Few ever went mad from sorrow. No one could go back in time, fall in love, change the future, and make it out alive.

But that last thought made her smile – she had done _just_ that, and she had survived.

Just as the file finished saving, there was a knock at her door and then it opened without her even uttering a word.

"I wonder why you bother to knock when you don't even wait to be invited in," Hera replied without turning around, knowing full well who was standing in her doorway—he was the only person on earth who knocked on her door these days. Most just helped themselves in without so much as an announcement. But that was just another reason why she loved him so.

"I knock because it's the polite thing to do," Dracula replied as he entered Hera's bedroom, shutting and notably locking the door behind him.

The faint click made Hera's cheeks flush and her heart skipped a beat, but she remained as composed as she could, given the circumstances. She could feel him making his way across the room, his hands soon resting on her shoulders and sliding down her arms a bit before his lips met the side of her neck.

"And I come in uninvited because I cannot do otherwise," he whispered into her ear. "You're like a siren. Just your presence alone draws me to you."

Hera chuckled.

"I'm a siren now, am I? For over a year I was your _little spitfire_ , finally graduated to goddess last night," she teased. "And now I'm being degraded in station? What in heaven's name did I do to deserve such disrespect?"

His long fingers got lost in her hair as he pulled her head back so he could look into her eyes.

"That's not funny," he muttered before kissing her on the mouth. She giggled at her own joke and kissed him back, looking directly into his eyes.

"Mmm, yes it is. It is _very_ funny."

As he proceeded to kiss her, she reached for the memory stick installed into her computer and pulled it out. He must have noticed this when she finally shut the screen to her laptop so she could pay more attention to those kisses of his. But his curiosity had already been sparked.

"What have you been up to?" he inquired. "Your father mentioned you had scarcely left your room after I left last week. And even after last night, I'm only gone for a few hours, and already you're locking yourself away again. Hera, what am I going to do with you?" he played.

"I think you'll have to take me with you next time. It's been years since I've seen Romania."

He kissed her again, simply because he couldn't help but do otherwise.

"Are you going to answer my initial question?"

"What question?" she breathed as she started to kiss him more fervently, her fingers hooking behind the buckle of his belt.

"What were you working on, on the computer?"

When she started to undo the front of his pants, his persistence wavered.

"Nothing you need to worry about," she answered eventually, leading him to her bed as they continued to kiss.

* * *

Dracula's fingers fumbled with the memory stick that lay perfectly hidden in the pocket of his pants as he walked briskly to his car parked in the driveway of Hera's house. When Hera hadn't been looking he had copied all the files on her own flash drive to his, strategically placing it in his pocket before she could discover what he had done.

Why had he done it?

He wondered to himself as he tossed his jacket into the car before returning inside the house, still fiddling with the object in his pocket.

Didn't he trust her?

Of course he did, he thought immediately. He trusted her with his soul; that was evident enough. But why wouldn't she tell him what she had been working on? Why was she keeping it a secret? What _was_ the secret?

He hated surprises, especially when the fact that there was a surprise was so evident and no one would inform him as to what was going on.

 _That's probably the reason why I did it_ , he assumed to himself. _I hate surprises. Hera knows this. So why would she keep this… whatever_ this _is, a secret from me? And what the hell is it?_

"Ah. She must have finished her book," Henry Garret's voice suddenly answered from within his study.

Dracula froze, realizing that he had been talking to himself again, but this time it was aloud. Was it just him, or did he only do that when he was thinking about Hera?

It was official: he was losing his mind. Thinking out loud again…

"Nice job, genius," he muttered to himself, shoving the memory stick back into his pocket.

He hadn't even realized he had taken it out to look at it. He must be losing it. Dracula glanced at the open door on his right to see Henry's kind, aged face peeping over a desk looking over at him, seemingly amused by something.

"I'm surprised she didn't tell you," he continued, motioning for Dracula to come and join him. "After all, it was you, you know, who helped her get started on that thing again. I had thought she had given it up completely. But it would appear she finished it just in time. Mind if I take a look? Hera never lets anyone read the raw version of her work unless you manage to steal it from her; the woman is so absurdly possessive at times. Clever move on your part, Vlad," and he held out his hand for the memory stick.

Dracula shut the study door and handed the thumb drive to the old man, taking a seat in front of his desk while Henry sat on the other end, inserting it into the USB drive into his computer.

"By the way, where is my daughter at the moment?"

"In the shower," Dracula answered, a tad uncomfortable telling Hera's _father_ that kind of information.

"I see," was all the old man said. "Ah, here we are. _In Defense of Dracula – Myth Turned Reality_. Main title is solid, though I'm fairly certain it's been used before, but the subtitle is a bit mediocre if you ask me. Not what I would have chosen, but still, it has a nice bit of spunk to it. Did she tell you she was writing this with a more fictional approach? Rather clever idea – allows the reader to learn history while seamlessly interweaving it with fiction so it's both entertaining _and_ educational. That's my Hera though, always being so clever…" and his voice trailed off as he skimmed over his daughter's work.

Dracula watched in silence, not really having much to say. Instead, he thought about Hera, wondering what she wrote about him and his history, wondering what it would be like, watching her read up on him. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his thin lips at the thought of how obsessed she really was, or at least had been.

She accused him of being arrogant; well, her preoccupation with him certainly wasn't helping.

That smile of his grew wicked as he pondered on all the ways he could give her a hard time about it.

"So, you're obsessed with me, are you?" he'd ask her. Then she'd get all defensive and claim:

"No I'm not."

"Oh yes you are. Your father said you were," he'd insist.

Then she'd be defiant and swear up and down she wasn't and the more he'd tease her for it, the more worked up she'd get to the point where he'd have her pinned—possibly to a wall—begging for him to just take her.

And take her he would.

He'd take her hard and long until she was purring.

God, he could feel her riding his cock already. He could smell her, taste her…And she was naked upstairs in her shower. The sooner he got out of this room, the sooner he could…

"So, when are you going to ask my Hera to marry you?" Henry suddenly asked, jolting the Count back into reality with a violent snap. He nearly fell out of his chair and his head whipped up in shock.

"Pardon?"

"When are you going to ask Hera to marry you? I mean, clearly Vlad, nobody is getting any younger here. Hera's in her prime, as are you. You are the most compatible man when it comes to my daughter – you're highly intelligent, sophisticated, talented, well-connected, your fortune outweighs hers _and_ mine, so money could never be an issue and you could certainly provide for her. And to make it all the more agreeable, you love each other. I usually wouldn't encourage my daughter to marry a man nearly eight years her senior, but considering that you two spend most of your time together anyway, and the two of you aren't exactly subtle regarding your sexual activity - I suppose I just don't see what the two of you are waiting for."

Dracula's heart must have stopped beating because he certainly wasn't breathing any more. His eyes were wide as all the blood had drained from his face.

What?

He and Hera? Get… _married_?

As in married—living in the same house, sharing the same bed, paying bills, having kids… having _grandkids!_

He would have expected such a proposition to frighten him, but actually, after he finally remembered how to breathe again, he thought about the suggestion a bit more deeply.

"Marry Hera," he mused aloud.

Yes, the more he contemplated on the idea, the more he liked it.

"Well, I'm not going to lie, Henry, marrying your daughter would make me an extremely happy man, but I confess, I haven't the slightest idea how to ask her, nor have we really even discussed the topic at length. I'm not even sure if she's ready to get married."

"Oh nonsense! If I know Hera, and I do, she has never been more ready to marry and if she stopped to think about it for five minutes instead of running herself ragged constantly, I'm certain she'd come to that very conclusion."

"Well, I'm open to suggestions, of course," Dracula added, leaning forward in his seat. "I mean, you know Hera as well as I do. She deserves nothing but the best… something that she'll remember forever."

"I'm glad you think so. And I do believe, my dear friend, she has given us the answer." Dracula's brow arched, demonstrating his confusion, but Henry began to explain. "Do you know if Hera actually intends on publishing her work?"

"I'm not sure…" and he trailed off for a moment. "But it would make sense if she did. It certainly sounds like something she'd do."

"Then why don't we take advantage of this golden opportunity?" Henry suggested. "We both know Hera won't act unless she gets pushed into a particular direction…"

"Actually, that depends entirely on what it is," Dracula defended, and then he paused, finally seeing where the old man was going with this. "You're suggesting we publish her book… behind her back." Henry had an impish grin on his face and nodded. Dracula's elbows, which were now on his knees, propped up his head as he leaned forward and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "She won't like that, Henry."

"Oh, I know she won't. Not at first anyway, but you see, that's where you come in," Hera's father replied deviously.

The Count eased back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair as he listened carefully to Henry's proposition. By the end of it, Dracula had that uncanny smirk on his lips.

"Henry, I never saw you as the scheming type," he admitted while the man broke out the bourbon and poured the two of them a good two inches over a single cube of ice each. Mr. Garret just laughed as he held his glass out in the air in a toast.

"To the scheming old man," he teased, "and my brilliant ideas."

Dracula chuckled and the two drank. Henry then poured each of them one more glass, and raised it again.

"And to Hera," he said more soberly, a soft smile on his face. "And the happiness that has been longed denied of her. I have you to thank for changing that, Vlad."

"No pressure intended, I'm sure," he teased, getting more comfortable in his seat.

"No, of course not."

"Do you mind if I read the book first before I continue with the plan?"

Henry nodded and removed the thumb drive from the computer, handing it back to the Count.

"By all means. I think you should know what she wrote about your ancestor. That, and you'll need it so you can send it to the publisher. I have a good friend—rather prestigious in these parts—who would be more than happy to assist you in the editing and publishing process. He's very efficient. Here's his card," and he placed it beside the memory stick on the edge of the desk. "Just mention my name and you should get right through to him, set up an appointment and what not."

Dracula took the card and the thumb drive and placed them both into his pocket upon standing.

"Thank you for doing this, Henry."

"My pleasure, my boy. My pleasure. Besides, I've always wanted a son."

* * *

Hera frowned.

"Vlad," she said in warning, hands on her hips.

"I'm not telling you _why_. Besides, do I have to have a reason to take you somewhere nice for dinner? Honestly spitfire…"

But as he suspected, his Hera was smarter than that.

She always had been.

"The _last_ time you took me somewhere nice for dinner was in 1888 in Budapest the night you told me you loved me. Do you remember? _Before_ you got me pregnant and _after_ you had convinced Velkan that he was using me," she declared, not caring if someone overheard her.

"Now wait just a minute," he defended. "Firstly, we agreed not to revisit _that_ part of the past. Secondly, I never convinced Velkan of anything…"

"Yes you did!" she said, smirking slightly because she knew she was wining. "You hated the idea of me with another man so you _somehow_ convinced him that he was using me so he'd hurt me and you'd have me all to yourself, am I right?

Dracula didn't admit or deny anything. He just remained silent, giving her a disapproving look.

"Vlad, just admit it. You have something up your sleeve. I already know that the only reason why you're taking me out is for some very special reason… just like last time."

"And because of that _one_ time, you automatically assume that I have something up my sleeve in store for you? Even if I did, can't you just embrace the fact that I've never managed to really surprise you?" he inquired, pulling her into his arms.

"That's not entirely true," she replied, caving just slightly.

She couldn't stay frustrated with him. That look he gave her always made sure of that.

 _Damn his charm,_ she thought to herself.

"The first time I had slept with you, I was pleasantly surprised," she crooned, letting her hands fall from her hips so she could slide them up his arms and wrap her own around his neck.

"Yes, but you suspected in the back of your mind how fantastic I could be," was his purposefully arrogant answer as he swept in low for a kiss. "All I did was solidify what you already believed."

His seducing lips went to work on her mouth and she chuckled, knowing full well what he was up to.

"All right, we're already off topic as it is. Back to the present. What are you up to?"

"No good," he husked playfully. "Now no more questions. I liked where our last conversation was headed."

With just a few more of those kisses of his, she would have succumbed, but his mobile phone ringing in the background brought the innuendo to an end. With a curse and a reluctant sigh, Dracula let Hera go as he reached into his back pocket for his phone.

"Yes? It is? Mhmm... Yes... Yes I understand. I'll be there shortly."

And then he hung up.

"What was that about?"

"I have to go. I'll pick you up at five thirty, all right?"

"Dracula, what is going on?!" she demanded, getting frustrated again.

The fact that she called him by his _true_ last name made that devilish smile reappear as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close and placing a languorously deep kiss on her lips.

He seemed to be doing that a lot as of late.

It was as if the _old_ him had crept back into his life. He was always keeping secrets, seducing her… and he wasn't even a vampire anymore!

She hated being so out of the loop when it came to what went on in his head. Yes, having the old Count Dracula that she had fallen for in the past was wonderful. Having _any_ version of him in her life was wonderful. It was certainly better than not having him at all, but all this secrecy... And she just _knew_ it was about her.

"I love you," the Count whispered, brushing the tip of his nose against hers. "I promise to fill you in on everything tonight. But in the meantime," and he gently took her chin in his hand, lifting her eyes to meet his, "be patient with me?"

Her kiss was his answer.

"Everything?"

"I swear it. Besides, I know how much you hate secrets," he added with a quirky grin.

"Almost as much as I hate how charming you are."

His expression turned dark, gaze full of suggestion.

"That's not true. You love how charming I am," he purred, closing in on whatever space existed between them.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"That's right. I nearly forgot," and he distanced himself from her momentarily to turn and glance at the clock on the wall. "You are so distracting," and he kissed her one last time.

"Five-thirty?" she called after him.

"Yes. Maybe a little earlier. I'll call you if that's the case."

"All right. I suppose I have no choice _but_ to be a good sport about this."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

* * *

The next couple of hours seemed to pass by slowly, and soon, the lack of distractions and things to do found Hera in the bathtub. She leaned her head back on the edge of the porcelain tub, the sultry locks that had slipped from her loose bun lacing her sweaty neck as the heat soothed and relaxed every muscle in her body. The scent of lavender hung idly in the air as the steam from the water lightly veiled her sight.

Normally, she enjoyed long, leisurely baths, but this unknown surprise was still on her mind. She trusted Dracula, so why did his secrecy bother her, particularly when she knew it had to be about herself? What was he going to tell her that was so important he had to do so over an elaborate dinner in town?

She slipped deeper into the tub, letting the water pass over her shoulders now. As they usually did, her thoughts lingered on the Count—when they had first met, what he used to be like, how he was now… the evident similarities between the two despite how much the wrinkles in his character had smoothed out.

It should have been obvious what he wanted to say. He was probably going to have to move back to Romania, she assumed. He had stayed in England for nearly a year now, when his original trip was only supposed to be two weeks. Dracula had flown back and forth between countries a couple times to make sure everything was in order with his estate and whatnot. Perhaps he couldn't afford the cost of travel now?

That was nonsense.

Dracula?

Run out of money?

The notion was absurd, although now that she thought of it, his wealth couldn't be incalculable. He never worked, from what she knew and his tastes had remained most expensive. So why would he have to move back to Romania, if that was indeed what the issue was? He probably wanted her to come with him. But she couldn't just leave. Her whole life was here: her father, her home, the Universities, the conferences, the countryside, the memories…

Could she just pack up everything and leave with him?

Could she give up everything just to be with him?

The answer to the second question was easier to answer. Of course she could. She had once before and with very little effort on her part. She had fallen in love with him against her better judgment, against reason and his history… _their_ history.

She had done it before and she could do it again. He had asked her to trust him, and she did. And if he asked her to do so again, she would.

That is what her answer would be, to whatever question he asked her or whatever it was he needed to tell her. Her reply would be 'yes' and then she'd tell him she loved him and supported him and would go to the ends of the earth with him if he asked her to.

That's what she would say.


	63. The Proposition

**Oh! And silly me - forgot to thank those who reviewed yesterday:** the invisible reader **,** alexc1209 **,** Scarlet Empress **,** She-Devil Red **,** Bloodsired **,** Madam Silver **,** BornRose2 **,** Countess **,** 12345678910 **,** RegencyPoet **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** Aurora **,** Cosmopolitan Countess **,** Kiriari **,** ShadowSpade **, and** bloodyrose2014 **.**

 **Don't forget to send me your feedback on these two chapters! Thank you :) Also, this chapter kind of ends on a sort-of cliffy, but DON'T PANIC! Everything will work out, I promise. Just couldn't resist one last moment of drama. ;)**

* * *

 **LXIII**

 _ **The Proposition**_

The lights were dimmed.

Jazz music played softly from the live band in the corner of the restaurant.

Lingering in the air was the scent of freshly baked breads, savory meats, antique vintages, and a hint of the mingled ladies perfume, men's cologne, and cigar smoke.

It was an aroma that reminded the Count of civilization—the upper crust of society. The bouquet typically made him feel at ease, right at home. But tonight, no version of aroma therapy could calm his nerves. He stared intently at the burning wick of the beautiful gas lamp in the center of the table, his long fingers wrapped around a chilled wine glass while his lips pressed against the rim.

Taking a quick sip, he placed the glass down and rested his palm flat on the table surface, trying to focus his attention on the beautiful white tulle laced over the Chinese silk tablecloth instead of the fact that Hera was—he glanced at the time on his watch—twenty minutes late. With a groan, his hand soon met his face and he silently cursed to himself. If he hadn't allowed himself to get distracted back at the publisher's earlier he could have picked up Hera as was planned.

He had gone to call her to explain the situation when Hera had reached him first, explaining that her old American friend Hailey Stevens had unexpectedly dropped by with that Richard fellow (who rather serendipitously was now Hailey's new fiancé) and that she'd get a ride with them into town after their visit. Naturally, it would make sense if Hera was late, but sitting here alone in this restaurant at a table for two for the past twenty minutes was… _embarrassing_.

The waitress, who _clearly_ had a thing for him, always seemed to be watching, just itching for Hera to stand him up.

Hera would never do that to him though… or would she?

He suddenly began to doubt himself, that anxiety he had been suppressing all day finally making its way to the surface.

 _Hera hasn't seen Hailey in years…all because of me and that whole nasty situation with her appearing in the girl's flat near death with a silver stake in her stomach._

 _But honestly, Vlad, Hera wouldn't stand you up because of_ that _!_

 _Actually, it would make perfect sense if Hera left me here for the next hour or so before calling and saying she wasn't coming._

 _Vlad, get a hold of yourself. She's not like that. She would_ never _do that to you._

 _Are you sure?_

He inwardly cringed, loathing the fact that he was doubting her – not to mention himself.

 _After all your hard work and desperation to keep all of this a secret, to have her just stand you up. Vlad, admit it. There is a probability. Hailey's her best friend._

 _Yeah, well, I know Hera and she wouldn't ditch_ me _for her best friend._

 _You clearly don't understand women like you used to, Vlad._

 _Ugh._

He reached for his glass of wine and took another drink, only longer this time.

He was losing it.

God, he seriously thought he was done talking to himself.

He couldn't help but chuckle slightly though. The only reason why he talked to himself was because of Hera. He had never done it before until he had met her. His hand reached down to feel for the package beneath his seat and he placed it on his lap, silently admiring the simplicity of the wrapping and delicate ribbon.

She'd come.

He'd just have to wait.

And wait he would.

Dracula had waited over a hundred years just to see her again – he could endure a little longer.

The Count glanced at the time on his watch once more and the smile on his face vanished.

What?! It had only been two minutes?!

"God, this isn't funny," he muttered quietly. "You've put me through enough already as it is, the last thing I need is for you to slow time down; especially in an instance like _this_."

Well, each second started to feel like minutes, and the minutes soon felt like hours. Just when Dracula was certain time had stopped, his wait came to an end as the doors to the restaurant opened and a familiar head of copper hair caught his attention. He stood on instinct and just stared from across the room as one of the waiters spoke with Hera.

Their conversation never met his ears, and though usually he missed having that ability, in that moment, he hardly cared. He watched as she made eye contact with him, smiling sheepishly while speaking to the waiter, pointing in the Count's direction and explaining the situation. The waiter nodded in understanding and motioned for Hera to follow him toward her seat.

Dracula continued to stand as she made her way through the maze of tables and guests and then she took her seat.

She looked stunning, her dress a dark emerald green number with elbow length sleeves that barely lingered on her shoulders, a gently swooping neckline revealing just a taste of cleavage. Her beautiful hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, the tantalizing waves hanging over one shoulder as she took her seat across from him.

"I am _so_ sorry for keeping you waiting," she began. "I had a late start, you know, with Hailey and Richard showing up all of a sudden. I told you they were engaged, right? Well, apparently when Richard went to America all those months ago, I had asked him to look up Hailey for me and check in on her and they hit it off right away and so we talked for ages while I was waiting for you and when you called, they offered to drop me off, and we were already late as it is, and you know how Hailey drives…well, actually you don't… but she's pretty much a maniac and forgot that here in England you're supposed to drive on the left side of the road, not the right like they do in the states, so we almost got killed like… four times, and then this cop pulls her over for speeding and she just had to piss him off, so by the time he actually finished writing her ticket, we were already absurdly late, and then Richard couldn't remember where this place was, and then we finally found it after passing it, so we had to turn around, and then we couldn't even find a parking spot and…"

"You look beautiful," he interrupted suddenly, smiling when Hera stopped in mid-sentence and a faint blush appeared in her cheeks.

"Thank you. Sorry for rambling. You look especially dapper, as well."

His smile broadened as he reached across the table, offering his hand. She took it without hesitation. They looked at each other for a long moment or two, just staring into each other's eyes, his thumb caressing the top of her hand as he leaned forward.

"You're probably wondering what all this is about," he stated knowingly.

"Is it obvious?" she teased. "I've been a nervous wreck all day!"

"My apologies. Although, to be honest, love, you're not very good at hiding your curiosity, let alone containing it." His gaze became more serious as he gently squeezed her hand. "Hera, before I begin, I want you to know how sorry I am."

"For what?" Then the waitress appeared, interrupting them. "Oh."

"Hello, my name is Rachel and I'll be your server this evening. It looks like she finally showed up," she added, speaking to Dracula.

The Count, however, never took his eyes from Hera. The waitress took the blow with limited grace and cleared her throat.

"Are we ready to order?" she asked, her tone no longer pleasant.

They ordered, and despite Dracula's rather tactful hinting, Rachel the waitress remained persistent throughout the entire evening, even _after_ the Count explained that Hera was his _girlfriend_ and not the relative or friend she had initially assumed. Hera thought the whole situation was rather pathetic and even a little hilarious, whereas Dracula paid little to no attention to their waitress.

All of his attention was completely fixed on Hera: what she was saying, how she responded to his comments.

She was the center of his universe for the duration of the evening. At last, after a good hour and a half of the silent abuse, the waitress gave up and handed them their check, offering them a pleasant evening as she sulked away.

When the time came for them to leave, however, Dracula's ease began to disappear as the weight of the wrapped bundle still in his lap became more and more evident.

"So," Hera began, leaning forward, "you had mentioned earlier today that you were going to fill me in on everything."

"Yes, I had nearly forgotten." He fidgeted a bit in his seat, trying desperately to ignore the un-ignorable persistent racing of his heart. "Well, it's nothing really," he lied, preparing to stand. "I'll drive you home." She noticed his evident retreat and she sent him a warning look.

" _Vlad_."

Dracula sat there for a minute or two, desperately trying to calm himself down.

At long last, he sighed in defeat and reached under the table, revealing the wrapped box with the ribbon, and he placed it between them, finally exhaling when he moved his hands away.

Hera glanced over at him with a peculiar look in her eyes, silently asking him what was contained within the package. He gave her no hints, no guesses. The only thing he gave her was a gentle request.

"Open it."

She reached out slowly and took the box in her hands, placing it in front of her for a moment before looking up at him. Whatever this box contained was making Dracula terribly anxious—something she'd never seen before tonight.

Swallowing hard, she pulled the ribbon, undoing the neat bow on the top of the box, silently praying to herself that this wasn't a box with plane tickets to Romania and a key to her new apartment in Budapest or anything like that. When she lifted the lid to the box, her breath caught in her throat as she stared in evident shock at what lay within.

Bound in a burgundy red leather cover was a book; and embossed with gold leaf lettering were the words: _In Defense of Dracula – Myth Turned Reality; A Novel: by Hera Kali Garret, PhD._

It took her a moment or two to remember how to breathe, and when she did, it came out as a gasp.

He had published her book… _her_ book.

The one she hadn't even TOLD him was finished.

But how did he get a hold of it?

How did he manage to do this without even _telling_ her… _asking_ her?

Her father.

HE probably had something to do with all of this. But… why? Why would he do that? Why the secrecy?

Hera's shock was genuine and she stared at the impressive looking volume in silence for nearly a whole minute, never uttering a word or so much as touching the book— _her_ book.

The Count's anxiety reached uneasy levels. Hera hadn't said anything. She had no discernible expression on her face and now more than EVER did he wish he could read her mind or hear her heartbeat or… or SOMETHING!

The suspense was killing him.

"Hera? Are you… are you okay?" he inquired apprehensively.

"Yes, sorry... I... can you take me home, please?" she whispered.

Dracula immediately misinterpreted her request and he felt his stomach sink to the floor. She was angry with him. No, probably furious. But lacking any strength to even so much as apologize, he complied with her request and stood from his seat, watching as she carefully picked up the book after putting on her light jacket and following him out to his car.

The entire ride to her home, there was nothing but silence between the two of them.

All Hera did was quietly study the glistening gold title on the cover of the book, her name embossed in the expensive leather. She hadn't even opened it yet. All she did was stare.

Dracula longed to ask her if she was angry, or to at least turn on the radio so he wouldn't have to endure the awkward hush between them, which was effectively drowning out the drone of the car's engine. After the drive was over, the car pulled up the driveway to Hera's house and then stopped.

And then silence – nothing but deafening, maddening silence.

"Hera? Hera, please say something," he pleaded, feeling horrible enough as it was without her even speaking to him.

He knew he shouldn't have listened to her father. Publishing her work without her consent or permission was a bad idea. He had _known_ this and had still followed through!

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

"Thank you for dinner and the gift, Vlad," she said, looking over at him briefly before staring down at the book. "It was lovely."

He inwardly screamed.

He knew it!

She was furious with him! If he waited any longer, she'd probably burst into tears and he felt guilty enough as it was. But instead of apologizing for what he assumed was a disastrous evening, all he could manage to say was, "You're welcome."

 _You're welcome? YOU'RE WELCOME?!_ his mind screamed at him. _Why the hell are you saying 'you're welcome?' Have you gone insane? You publish her work without her permission, you take her to a restaurant where the waitress is practically throwing herself at you… can you imagine how self-conscious Hera must have felt? Did you even bother to ask if she was all right? And then after_ that _catastrophe, you have the nerve to just hand her the book without so much as an introduction or explanation?!_

"You'll call me… when you finish it, right?" he added.

 _Vlad, have you completely lost your mind?! "Will you call me?" Oh GOD! She's furious with you! The only way she'll call you is if she decides she wants to yell at you! Lord… YOU ARE AN IDIOT!_

Hera simply nodded, kissing him lightly on the cheek before getting out of the car and making her way up the steps to the front door, never bothering to look back at him. As soon as she disappeared inside, Dracula sighed heavily in defeat.

"Good night," he whispered to himself before driving off.

* * *

The house was empty.

Henry was on another one of his business trips outside of the country and if tonight had gone according to plan, Hera would either be upstairs in her bedroom with Dracula or she'd be at his apartment. Either way, she'd be with him right now, instead of by herself, seated alone in the dark at the foot of the stairs, still staring at the book on her lap.

The butler, François, and his wife, the housekeeper, had the evening off. The rest of the staff was probably in bed at this hour. And Hera was here, alone in her house, sitting in the dark, a nauseating feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She felt torn.

How could Dracula publish _her_ work without telling her, or _asking_ for her permission? Part of her was a little disappointed with him - he knew what a perfectionist she was when it came to her work, and the fact that he had just published it without even asking! Yet, despite her chagrin, the rest of her was profoundly touched by his boldness. The book looked beautiful and from the gold leaf embossed letters and burgundy leather cover, she could only imagine how much trouble he must have gone through to do this for her.

But she couldn't seem to convince herself to open the book, let alone read through it. So she gathered it up in her arms and made her way up the stairs to her bedroom to change. It didn't take long for curiosity to get the better of her. Although she was still upset that he did all of this behind her back, despite it all, she wanted to know what it looked like.

Sitting on the edge of her bed after taking off her shoes, she removed the book out of the box and examined the cover.

The leather binding was stunning, and the gold embossing was a very nice touch, undoubtedly expensive. She thumbed through the book idly, from ending to the beginning, starting with the one-paged author's bio.

The picture of her was one that the Count had taken on one of their outings—the one when they had spent an afternoon on the moors, the sky a gorgeous blue with full, white clouds up above, the chilling breeze from the sea blowing through the tall, lush grass. Beneath her picture was the mini biography, which she assumed the Count had written:

 _Hera Kali Garret was born on the 7_ _th_ _of May, 1989 in London, England, the second and only surviving daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Garret. She earned her first doctorate degree from Oxford University at sixteen years of age and received her second shortly thereafter. Her father, the prestigious Sir Henry Garret, PhD, is partly to blame for Hera's premature exposure to the intellectual world when she was but a child. Her interest in Count Dracula has no definitive birth, but its role in her life and character is undeniable and far from insignificant. Her dreams for the future are currently undetermined. She lives with her father in their family estate in the northern part of England._

Well, perhaps it wasn't what _she_ would have written, but he did a nice job, she'd give him credit for that.

She continued to thumb through the pages, making her way towards the beginning and the more she inspected the book, the more pleased she became with what he had done. The organization, font and size of the text were perfect. The volume was thick enough by her standards and the paper and its quality were nothing but the finest. From what she could tell, the words were all hers, save it were the few edits here and there, and any alterations that existed sounded much like her own writing anyway. The format was perfect, the binding was strong, and the smell of the dried ink was like heaven.

At last, she arrived at the beginning of the book, more than pleased with the Count's efforts and evident success.

Any anger she may have felt towards him for doing all of this without her consent was long gone and part of her felt guilty for being so silent in the car. He probably assumed she had been furious with him.

Quite the contrary - she had just been rather stunned. That was all.

She began to reach for her mobile, prepared to call and apologize and then thank him, when she noticed there were a few extra pages in the front of the book…more than necessary really.

She turned the couple of pages, finding the table of contents, the copyright information, the title page, and then she stumbled upon something she had not noticed before.

The foreword; and signed at the end in a hand she immediately recognized was Dracula's signature.

Curious, she flipped the page over and began to read the foreword from the beginning:

…

 _Love._

 _I recall the words of the world-renowned William Shakespeare when he once explained to me that love was the greatest and most frightening adventure any soul could ever experience. He said the course of true love was never easy, and that although finding true love seems like the hardest part of the journey, holding onto it is a task meant only for the courageous._

 _His words held no meaning for me those many years ago when we had had that conversation._

 _It was true that I had fancied myself to be in love a handful of times centuries before, but in the end, giving my heart to another always ended up wounding me more deeply than any physical injury ever would. I was bitter, repulsed, and had damned my soul because of what I had believed to be love, and since that day, I cursed it and refused to believe in its existence._

 _I shunned it, abhorred it, and flatly refused to love and be loved in return – it simply cost more than I was willing to give._

 _I was jaded. I had been burned, and I was convinced those scars would never heal for they were too deep and bled each time I thought about them. But fate, it would seem, handed me something I never could have anticipated._

 _You._

 _I hadn't thought much of it at the time, but later I realized that, until that single moment when I met you, my spitfire, my life had been a black abyss filled with nothing but loneliness. Pulling myself through each hour of every night had been a burden. I had nothing to live for and nothing to lose._

 _I still remember the look on your face when you first fell under my gaze; I can still recall feeling something strange click inside of me when it was_ I _who then fell under yours._

 _In the beginning, you simply intrigued me._

 _You were the source of an endless curiosity and nothing more._

 _Sometimes I have wondered if we had stumbled upon one another in any other circumstance, would it have been a passing glance and nothing more? Would life have gone on as it normally did? The answer to that question is always the same:_

 _No, it is not possible._

 _You see – once my cold, harsh eyes met your warm ones, I knew in the deep recesses of my soul that you would haunt me for the rest of my days and so, how could I forget you? Even if you had vanished into thin air right after you first appeared to me, if I never saw you again, I would have remembered your eyes; so young and vibrant, so sharp and attentive, filled with a wisdom that far surpassed your age._

 _Even though our first meeting was brief, I can still hear the steady rhythm of your heart in my ears before it began picking up its pace as I drew closer to you. I remember the beat and the surprise I felt course through me when I realized it was not in fear but in something else, something I could not place at the time – it was excitement, intrigue, and perhaps even disbelief._

 _Yet, above all other things I remember vividly the hint of euphoria I felt after inhaling your scent. No perfumer could ever capture the distinct aroma of your skin for it is far too intricate and unique – I could not even begin to describe it…nor how for days on end, following our first encounter, it would haunt me as your eyes did, both lingering in the back of my mind as I fought to understand why I could not cease my thoughts of you._

 _My intrigue soon turned into an obsession, and as days turned to weeks, I longed to see you again. I excused my obsession as a mere curiosity, reasoning with myself by saying I needed you for the benefit of my own schemes and plans, but my rationalizing was foolish. I knew better, and yet, I continued to deny everything. A mistake I still wish I could rectify._

 _When I think about our next encounter, my heart still races and my blood still boils in both envy and desire. Seeing you with another man forced an emotion out of me that I had not felt in ages, and as time went by, this emotion would become so potent it was almost palpable._

 _Jealousy._

 _Although I refused to acknowledge it, I knew that I wanted you, that I craved you, and knowing that your heart had already been claimed by another—and not just any other, but the son of my enemy—made me all the more determined. The following weeks, when my determination turned into action, were a blur, but when I finally succeeded, life had never been clearer and no other victory had ever tasted sweeter._

 _You must forgive me, my dearest love, for my possessive nature, for my arrogance, my scheming, and how I had persuaded your heart to change its course. I apologize, but I am not sorry. Never had any woman captured my interest so effortlessly, never had any woman made me feel as alive as you had, especially during the last night of your stay in my home when we made love for the first time._

 _But, oddly enough, it was neither your skill nor your body that seduced me – although they certainly helped – but rather it was the trust in your eyes when I took you. A trust that was so blatant and raw; it was something I had not seen in a long, long time and it baffled and bewildered me for you knew who and what I was and still… you trusted me._

 _But then the heat of your body, the scent of your skin, the way you took every inch of me without question or complaint seduced me even further than I could have ever imagined. I knew of your discomfort and was waiting for you to tell me to be gentler, but you never did. You wanted it because I wanted it and it was in that moment, when that single thought crossed your mind, I realized… I was falling in love with you._

 _The following morning found me alone in a cold bed; your things were gone along with the gentle rhythm of your heartbeat. All that remained was the tantalizing smell of you on my skin and your exquisite taste that lingered in my mouth. I felt you leave but could not bring myself to stop you. When you walked out those doors it was as though something inside of me left with you – it wasn't until a little while later that I came to a reluctant conclusion: that missing piece of me was you. I say reluctant because I didn't want to admit to myself nor anyone else that I needed you, that you were a part of me in a way that no one ever had been before._

 _Once that conclusion sank in and I realized I could do nothing to change it, I vowed to have you by my side once more. And so I waited patiently for everything to fall into place; it was difficult for, I must confess, patience has never been one of my virtues – in fact I had never been patient with anyone before you. You brought out so much in me: patience, genuine concern, affection, selflessness, rationalization, denial, insecurity, vulnerability, trust… all human emotions that I thought I had given up completely._

 _But you re-created them, Hera, you forced them to resurface by just being yourself… but more importantly, it was you who taught me how to love again, a feat that I had thought entirely impossible, but you proved me wrong._

 _I thought getting to that point had been the most difficult part of the journey, but once again, I was mistaken - terribly so._

 _I now realize that what Shakespeare had said was right—holding onto true love is a task meant only for the brave, for it is the hardest part of the journey. You were the foundation I had rebuilt myself on and when I lost you, my entire world crashed down around me and my blackened soul was reduced to tiny, unsalvageable pieces._

 _I had been living for you and suddenly I found that instead of having nothing to lose, I had everything to lose; and in my pride I had lost it all._

 _I have no desire to revisit that part of my past, the gloomy, painful chapters filled without you being there beside me. You know of the suffering we both endured and, although I would never willingly wish to endure it again, I would if it meant being with you._

 _If you asked me to, I would find a way to turn back the pages of time and change all of my incalculable mistakes. I would have told Aleera the truth about you and would have done everything in my power to protect you from her, even if it meant killing her. I would have found the strength to keep myself from you that fateful night. And if I had still failed, I would have stayed with you in Budapest during a pregnancy of which you were oblivious. I would have told you that which you deserved from the beginning: the truth._

 _Hera, in the end all that needs to be said is that I love you and would, without question, go the ends of the earth, to the deepest circle in hell… all for you. All for the love I have for you._

 _There is no word in any language that could describe what I feel when you look at me; when you smile or laugh; when you cry; when we make love; when you say my name. Not even the word_ love _is able to accurately describe, for what I feel runs so much deeper._

 _The best I can do is to simply tell you over and over again that I love you. I adore you. I need and worship you. I cannot survive, I can't even function properly without you. Hera, if I am to live the remainder of my days as a mortal man then I cannot do it without you._

 _Again, forgive me for being so cliché, but you are the air that I breathe and the ground upon which I stand. You are my world. You were the one who rekindled my heart and saved my soul. Hera, you are my dearest and closest friend, my confidant, my lover, and the keeper of my heart._

 _It is for these reasons and so many more that one day, perhaps in the near future, I hope that you might call me your husband and I might call you my wife, the mother of my children, and be, as they say in storybook endings, my one true love whom I live happily ever after with, from here to eternity._

 _But Hera, even if such dreams are never realized, I will still forever remain by your side as your devoted friend, no matter what may come._

 _All my love,_

 _Vladislaus_

* * *

 **Before you guys run off to review or move on with the rest of your day** (hopefully to review, though!) **, I wanted to take a moment and send out a special shout out to the young lady who originally helped me construct that letter from Dracula.**

 **When I was nearly done originally writing/posting this story, I received a very honest and thoughtful review from an anonymous reviewer who I later discovered was actually a fellow author on this site who used to go by the penname of _Nienna Silmarwen_** (now better known as _Riona Winters_ ) **. Well, she was my original beta for the last third or quarter of this story and I can still remember agonizing over this letter and her helping me get it just right** (for the original, anyway) **.**

 **Even though my current beta, _Sleepy Bibliophil_** e **, has since then helped me to perfect this story in ways I could have only dreamed about initially, I would be amiss if I didn't send a shout-out to my original beta who helped making the ending of this story what it was.**

 **So even though I know she doesn't really read this stuff anymore and probably won't see this - I at least wanted to take a second to thank the ever-lovely** **_Riona Winters_ for all of her help on the original version of this story. I may do all the writing and editing and agonizing, and my muse may work over time, but I am thoroughly convinced that this tale would not be what it is today without those two friends of mine. So if either of you happen to be reading this - thank you. **

**\- T**


	64. Hera's Answer

**So I woke up this morning to find that this story is 3 reviews away from hitting a MASSIVE milestone - one that I haven't hit since this story was last up pre-hiatus. I confess myself a bit stunned and just overwhelmed with gratitude. A huge thank you to the following who reviewed yesterday -** She-Devil Red **,** Madam Silver **,** the invisible reader **,** Countess **,** Scarlet Empress **,** 123456789 **,** freshneverfrozen **,** DreamBubbles **,** RegencyPoet **,** Elle **,** alexc1209 **,** Cosmopolitan Countess **,** BornRose2 **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** ShadowSpade **,** Kiriari **,** ForeverACharmedOne **, and** AnimeFan001 **. You guys are seriously the greatest!**

 **And then there's this chapter... oh this chapter. I'm admittedly kind of a sucker for the occasional theatrics, but I personally find it rather fitting here. I apologize for nothing. ENJOY!**

 **Final disclaimer: lemony bits at the end... because it was in the original and I didn't have the heart to remove it completely** (although this version has been toned down dramatically) **.**

* * *

 **LXIV**

 _ **Hera's Answer**_

" _Hello, you've reached the voicemail of Vlad Drăculești. I'm either away from my phone or I'm catching a_ bite _to eat at the moment_ -snicker- _, so just leave your name, number, and a brief message and I'll return your call."_ –beep-

Hera groaned, hanging up before pressing the redial button as she searched frantically for the keys to her car. That was the seventh time she had reached his voicemail, and if she had to sit through the sound of that infernal man snickering at his own jokes, she'd…

" _Hello, you've reached the voicemail of…"_

Hera threw her phone at the wall and whether it was just sheer dumb luck or divine intervention, the mobile miraculously _didn't_ shatter to pieces.

Hera impatiently uttered an oath while dumping every bag she could get her hands on in search for her keys. Dracula wasn't picking up his landline OR his mobile and she couldn't find her bloody keys anywhere so she could go look for him!

She had to find him… she just had to.

At last, her luck changed and she managed to find what she was looking for on top of her desk. She kicked the flood of clothes, bags, and other various items out of her way and snatched the keys before dashing toward her bed and grabbing her mobile and the book Dracula had given her, then running out the door and into the hall. Maggie, one of the maids, appeared in her nightgown, looking as though she had just woken up.

"Miss Hera? Is everything alright?" she asked between yawns. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

"Just… go back to bed. I'm fine. Oh! If Vlad calls the house, tell him to call my mobile. I probably won't be back until tomorrow," she explained as she pulled on her jacket and ran outside into the frigid night air.

"Hera, where are you going? Don't you want some shoes?!" Maggie shouted, pulling her robe tighter around her body in an effort to keep herself warm and decent.

Hera unlocked her car and looked down at her bare feet, the shadowed gray of the cement making her skin appear more fair than usual.

She had so much adrenaline rushing through her, the cold hadn't even hit her yet.

"I'll be fine. Don't forget to tell him to call me!" she shouted as she climbed into the car and drove away.

Now, more than ever, was Hera glad she lived out in the country and not in town. Out here, she could drive as fast as she wanted to, and at this time of night, _no one_ was on the road. She dialed the Count's cell again, only to get his voicemail again. After the beep, she left a message.

"Vlad, why in GOD'S name are you not picking up the damn phone?!" she shouted into the speaker. "I swear, you better be dead or worse! I'm furious with you, Vladislaus!" and then she hung up and pushed the gas pedal all the way down to the floor, watching with dissatisfaction as her car reached speeds beyond 90 mph.

She _still_ wasn't going fast enough.

Hera reached his apartment in half the time it usually took and she sighed in relief when she noticed his car in its usual spot. She quickly parked and ran up the several flights of stairs to his apartment door where she rang the doorbell almost incessantly. When he didn't answer, she felt around the top frame for the spare key. After locating it, Hera quickly opened the door, shouting his name as she made her way into the dark flat.

"Vlad!" she called, turning on the light and placing her keys down on the side table in the entry way as she loosened up her scarf, walking briskly through the hall and into the main living room. "Vlad, where are you?"

It didn't take long for her to realize that he wasn't there. In fact, from the looks of it, he had never come home.

From what she could guess, he dropped off his car and just… left somewhere.

But where could he have gone at _this_ hour?

Hera sat down on the arm of the sofa and buried her face into her hands as the silence overtook her.

Dracula had never come home. He wasn't picking up his cell phone. She must have hurt him terribly. Hera could feel the tears of guilt starting to burn in her eyes.

This was all her fault.

He had published the book for her.

He had taken her out to eat in hopes that she'd be excited about all he had done.

He had written that beautiful foreword and had proposed and she… she blew it!

She had no idea where he could be or how her selfishness and insensitivity could have upset him. With blurry vision, Hera looked down at her phone to check the time. It was just after midnight. He could be anywhere, but the million-dollar question was, where would he go?

Out of the corner of her eye, Hera noticed a framed picture on the coffee table in front of her. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she reached forward and looked down at the picture, her fingers gently smoothing over the glass.

Dracula had a surprising knack for photography.

Similar to the portrait on her mini-bio page in her book, this picture was of another one of their outings; only this one was at a park perhaps twenty minutes from the apartment complex. It was of both of them, his strong arms wrapped around her, his lips pressed against her cheek as she laughed. She had bought him that camera earlier during the day and he had taken her to the park and had nearly filled the memory card with pictures of the two of them.

Perhaps he was there?

It was worth a shot to look; besides, she was desperate and since it wasn't all that long of a walk to the park, maybe she could find him there? Resolute, she placed the framed picture down on the coffee table and stood, making her way towards the front door and out to her car.

* * *

The damp grass squished beneath his nice black dress shoes as he paced across the manicured lawn just on the edge of the forest on the border of the park. His hands were buried in his pockets as he walked back and forth, ten steps in one direction, only to turn and walk ten more in the other.

He had been doing this for the past hour or so now.

The cold had seeped its way through his heavy overcoat, the edges flipping and flapping behind him as he marched briskly, trying to keep himself warm as he spoke aloud to himself.

He had finished chastising himself a good twenty minutes ago and was now desperately trying to concoct a backup plan on how to, one, approach Hera, and two, defend himself while apologizing profusely for listening to her clearly senile father.

"I had the best, the _purest_ of intentions," he told himself as he spun around and began to walk in the opposite direction. If he kept this up, this pacing of his would create a nice long ditch in the ground sooner or later. "Yes, she had every reason to get upset with me for publishing her work without her consent, we have established that. But she had NO right to get as upset as she did….Who am I kidding, yes she did. I took her work—something she had been laboring over for years according to Henry—and I published it for her without even asking. Christ, I don't even know if she _wanted_ it published!

"I just don't understand why she's so angry. I mean, I've done worse. Hell, I've done _way_ worse and she's never gotten angry to the point of silence. But…I mean, honestly. All I was doing was trying to be creative in how I proposed. I could have done the clichéd method of getting down on one knee in front of that whoring waitress and said 'Hera, will you marry me?' But she deserves so much more than that and I thought she would have appreciated this.

"But that's the problem. I thought too soon. I acted without seriously taking into account how she could have reacted. We hadn't even talked about marriage or the future before! Jesus, Vladislaus, you think you'd learn! After living for over five hundred years, one would naturally assume that you'd have all the kinks worked out when it came to women. Honestly, you could easily figure out any other woman on the face of this goddamn earth, with vampiric powers or not! _WHY_ then is Hera always the exception!?

" _Because,_ Vladislaus, she's Hera. _That's_ why. She's different. How many times must we go over this? She is the only person who would make you act this way, the only person who you've never really been able to fully understand or predict. I mean, sheesh, we almost _retreated_ today back at the restaurant, something we've _never_ done before… and there's another thing we can add to the list about Hera. Not only is she the only individual to make you nervous, but she is also the only circumstance where we've considered retreating. -sigh- How are we going to fix this? She's undoubtedly furious, but this isn't my fault. She has no legitimate reason to be this angry with me…so how do we go about doing this?"

He paced in silence for a minute or two before stopping and exhaling loudly.

"Come on!" he shouted to the evening sky. "I can think up military strategies, why can't I think up a way on how to re-approach this _woman_?"

He rubbed his temples furiously as his feet instinctively began to pace again.

Within moments he was muttering scenarios and his options to himself.

"All right, plan A was a complete and utter failure, so plan B. I could drive to her house, wake her up and we could talk. No… the last thing I want is one of the maids walking in or calling the police. Okay… um, I could call her? No, because then I wouldn't get a word in edgewise. She'd probably start yelling and I wouldn't be able to get through to her. I mean, honestly, what is there to do? It's not like I can just walk up to her and say 'Hey! Hera! Look, I was trying to propose to you earlier this evening, but you decided to give me the silent treatment, so we're just going to rewind and try this over again!' Oh yes, that will work REALLY well…"

Suddenly, a pair of headlights came into view and he noticed a familiar looking car pulling into the otherwise empty parking lot of the park. The engine was soon turned off and with it went the lights. The lamp in the lot allowed him to see the driver's side door opening and emerging from the car was a leggy woman in an emerald green dress, a mid-length black trench coat, a scarf loosely tied around her neck, and a head of familiar copper hair still pulled back into a low ponytail.

"Well, speak of the she-devil," he muttered to himself, recognizing the silhouetted figure.

Hera had what looked like a book in her hand and no shoes on her feet. She slammed the door shut to her car and started marching over to him, the frigid breeze blowing through her open coat and hair as she made her way out of the light and into the darkness where he stood.

For the first time since being a mortal did he genuinely wish he was still a vampire.

That way he could either, one, have an escape plan; two, could read her mind and figure out if she was upset or not instead of enduring the torture of _not_ knowing; or three, he could just erase whatever anger she felt for him and manipulate her emotions.

Unfortunately, all of those options were simply wishful thinking.

"Count Dracula, you have a TON of explaining to do!" she shouted at him from across the field. "You have some nerve, you know that?!" she shrieked, shaking the book in his direction as she closed in on him.

He stood his ground like a man, but honest to God, he had never been so afraid of the woman in his life. Hera seemed livid and he could only assume that if he provoked her at all, she'd get violent. That's just how she was. She had broken his nose a good couple of times when they had first met, and it wasn't like he could heal himself this time if she decided to hit him.

"I cannot _believe_ you!" she continued as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. From what she could tell, he looked surprised by her outburst, and maybe even a little pissed off. "Where the _fuck_ is your phone?"

"It's in my car," he answered as calmly as he could, a bit taken aback by her question. That wasn't what he was expecting to hear from her.

"I've been trying to get a hold of you for over an hour now and I wasn't going to yell at you but I'm yelling now!"

Ah, there it was; what he had been expecting.

She _was_ mad at him.

She had just needed to get over the initial shock of what he had done before she could react. He should have seen that coming. Silly him.

"Look, Hera, I know you're upset, but let me explain," he began, determined to have this disastrous evening end on at least the semblance of a positive note.

"Upset? _UPSET_?! I'm FURIOUS! I've called you I don't know how many times and I thought you were dead when you didn't pick up your phone, and then you weren't at your flat, and…just….Why didn't you pick up your phone?!"

"I told you! I left it in my car, and would you calm down?" he said, his voice growing louder as she continued to yell at him. "You have no reason to be shouting at me."

"I have EVERY reason in the WORLD to yell at you! I should be able to yell from the rooftops! In fact, I think I should yell loud enough so GOD can hear me!" she exclaimed as she got in his face.

"What? You don't think he can hear you right now?!" he snapped back at her.

"You have some serious nerve, Dracula. I should have suspected. I should have seen it coming! I cannot BELIEVE you!"

"You know, before you bite my head off, allow me to inform you that it wasn't easy getting that thing of yours published without you knowing."

"What _thing_?"

"THE BOOK!" he bellowed, totally worked up now.

"What book?! What the hell are you talking about?" she asked, a small smile appearing on her lips as the volume of her voice lowered slightly while his only increased.

" _YOUR_ book! The one I got published behind your back! What did you think we were talking about?!"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

"WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME?!"

"I don't know?! Why are YOU yelling at ME?!"

"I DON'T KNOW! You just stormed right over here and started screaming!"

"YES!"

"YES WHAT?! Hera, for the love of GOD, you're not making any sense, you _infuriating_ woman!"

Her smile broadened, her eyes glistening slightly in the darkness, the light of the moon reflecting off the unshed tears.

"Yes," she said again, her tone normal, her smile sincere.

Dracula calmed down almost immediately as his face illustrated his evident bewilderment. Clearly he wasn't getting it, so Hera removed the scarf from around her neck and placed it on the ground, putting the book on top of it.

"Yes," she said once more, her emotions starting to get the better of her. "Yes I will," and she took his hand in hers.

The Count froze, standing there in shock as he looked down into Hera's glistening eyes. Then, the unbelievable dawned on him.

"Wait… you… you read it?"

She nodded once.

"And you… you'll…"

He couldn't even say it.

He couldn't believe it.

It was too good to be true.

She read his proposal. She wasn't mad that he had published her work. She said yes! She was going to be his… his wife! _Never_ in all his life had someone ever rendered Dracula speechless. But Hera just did.

His face was priceless. His eyes were wide and his mouth had gone slack. She laughed softly.

"Vlad? Have I killed you? Please say something."

At last, he blinked and remembered how to breathe. His mouth closed and he placed his index finger over Hera's lips for a moment before grabbing her gently by the arms.

"Um… could you," and he twirled his finger around, motioning for her to turn around, "just for a second."

Hera nodded tentatively, but obeyed. As soon as her back was to him, Dracula fist-pumped once before mouthing the word "YES" and then he then rapidly regained his composure, shivering as if he were physically shaking off the uncharacteristic excitement. When he was in control again, he cleared his throat, signaling for Hera to turn around to face him again.

When her eyes met his, she chuckled.

"All done?" she teased, having no idea what he had done, but assuming it was something out of character. He nodded professionally, despite the adrenaline that was now flooding his system, trying hard not to smile.

"Yes. I'm done."

They looked at each other for a few moments before he snapped.

"Okay, no I'm not done," he confessed and he reached for her face and kissed her hard and long.

He felt her smile into his kiss as her arms wrapped around his neck, and within seconds, he was ravaging her with deep, long kisses, tongue and all. Hera suddenly remembered how she was wearing no shoes and she shivered, realizing how cold she actually was.

"God, it's freezing out here," she breathed as he suckled her bottom lip until it was flushed and pulsating.

He lifted her up, his hands grabbing hold of her legs, encouraging her to wrap them around his waist, which she did eagerly, tightening her grip around him with her thighs.

"Ooh. Somebody's _hard_ ," she teased, purposefully grinding herself against him, loving the wicked smirk that appeared on his face. One of his hands began to explore up and beneath her skirt and she leaned over him with a sigh, pressing her brow against his.

"I _really_ want you out of this dress," he whispered and Hera grinned.

"Do you think we'll make it back to your place? Or will you only make it to the car?" He burrowed his face into the side of her neck, showering the column with hungry kisses.

"With all the things I want to do to you, you'll want to be in bed," he promised her.

"I like the sound of that."

"Where are your keys?"

"In my coat pocket."

"I'll drive," and he swooped low so Hera could grab her scarf and book as he briskly walked her to the car.

"But it's my car! I want to drive," she insisted.

"We all know I'm the better driver, now then…" and he dropped her to her feet beside the car, "get in, or I'll take you right here… right now," he purred darkly his hand gliding down from her hips to the juncture between her legs. She shuddered in delight and wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him closer.

"Count Dracula, you can take me _anywhere_ ," she hummed lustfully, opening her legs a little more for him. "Even right here."

"I _want_ you in my bed," he insisted, unlocking the car door and opening it. " _Get in_."

She continued to smile suggestively as she climbed into the car.

Needless to say, they arrived at the apartment complex in half the time it normally took. The two did their best to act as normal as was possible under the circumstances, and tried even harder to be quiet as they made their way up to his flat, but the moment that key turned in the lock of his front door, the Count had shoved the woman inside and slammed the door shut behind him, his mouth going for hers immediately.

A good half hour later, they were in his bed, panting, naked, and sore in all the right places.

Dracula curled his arm around her and pulled her flush against him, not wishing to deprive himself of the warmth of her satiated body.

"So that foreword in the beginning of the book," Hera began a bit breathlessly as their legs entwined, "that's not going to be in every edition, right?"

His chuckle was rich and it vibrated in his chest.

"Given some of the contents, I'd think not… that is, unless you want it there."

"No. I'd rather keep that bit to myself," she said, caressing the lips that had so thoroughly worshiped her just moments ago. "I'm sorry for making you think I was mad at you for the whole publishing my book thing. I really wasn't upset, just… a bit stunned," she added.

"So I succeeded in surprising you then?" he inquired before taking one of her digits into his mouth, lapping his tongue against it sensually.

"Yes, Vlad, you did," she breathed.

The man was incredibly talented with his tongue and after he had made love to her finger with his mouth, his lips sought out her neck. She entwined her fingers in his dark hair, feeling him move against her in dimly lit room.

"Hera?" he said against her skin.

"Yes?" came the dreamy reply.

"How many kids do you want?"

She chuckled before answering his question as his mouth finally sought hers.

"I don't know. Why?"

"I've always wanted a big family."

This time she laughed.

"Oh really? I never would have guessed!" she teased, earning a chuckle from him.

"Yes. I suppose the thousands of vampire babies kind of gave that one away. But part of that had to do with world domination and the preservation of my kind."

She snorted.

"Oh? So you don't want to dominate the world with little Draculas then?"

"Well… not the _world,_ " he explained as a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. "But I was thinking the county of Cumbria would be a good place to start. At the very least, your womb," and he kissed her again, his hands grabbing hold of her ass so he could feel her against him.

"You do realize you'll probably kill me if we have even _ten_ kids?"

"And we wouldn't want that, so I'll settle for six."

" _Six?_ Vladislaus, seriously. People will think we've never heard of birth control."

He snickered, becoming more audacious as his refractory period came to an end and his body began to respond to her again.

"Or they'll know that I can't keep my hands off of you," he husked, kissing her neck. "What about five? That's a good number. Three boys, two girls, that way I don't have to live in the estrogen ocean or anything like that."

"Oh, you're _so_ funny," she teased.

"So five then?"

"Let's start with one, and we'll move from there. Fair enough?"

"Very well. We'll start with one… unless God decides to start us out with twins, but if he does, just know it's not my fault."

Hera laughed, smacking his chest playfully.

"Yes it is. If I ever get pregnant with one or more kids, it'll be _your_ fault."

"Well, I would hope _that_ would be the case," was his mocking response as he rolled her over onto her back, loving how she instinctively parted her legs so he could nestle himself between them.

"I didn't mean it like _that_. Sheesh."

"I know, spitfire. I'm just giving you a hard time."

"Yes. I know. You like to do that, don't you?"

"Yes. I do," he purred, bending his head down to kiss her before sinking into her again, loving the noises that came out of her mouth.

"Vladislaus?"

"Hmm?"

"When are we going to tell my father?"

"He already knows."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I was planning on asking you to marry me eventually, but he decided that there was no time like the present. The whole publishing the book with my proposal as the foreword all behind your back was his idea."

Hera rolled her eyes at the response before she felt him hit the right spot inside of her and then she whimpered, reaching behind her so she could clutch the headboard, toes curling as he moved.

"I'm going to kill him for that."

"No you're not, so hush and let me get to work on baby number one," he said with a playful gleam in his eyes, but she was already lost to him. All thoughts of her father and babies, and the future melted away into the back of her mind as pleasure untold devoured her.

And when they finally did stop, falling asleep tangled up in one another, she was in his arms – where she'd remain for the rest of her days.

* * *

 **Final chapter goes up tomorrow in the morning (Pacific Time). So if you still have questions after everything that has happened and you'd like answers, now is the last time to ask them.**

 **In the meantime, thank you for reading and don't forget to REVIEW! :)**

 **I'll see you all tomorrow.  
\- T**


	65. Epilogue

**Many thanks to** Madam Silver **,** Scarlet Empress **,** The Jabberwocky High Priestess **,** She-Devil Red **,** alexc1209 **,** BeautifulCataleya **,** BornRose2 **,** the invisible reader **,** RegencyPoet **,** DreamBubbles **,** ShadowSpade **,** bloodyrose2014 **,** Cosmopolitan Countess **,** AnimeFan001 **,** ForeverACharmedOne **,** Elle **,** Kiriari **, and** ForsakenStar22 **for reviewing yesterday and helping this story pass the 1k review mark! I am positively floored!**

 **...**

 **Well, here's the final chapter, and so marks the end of an era... a proper A/N is posted after the chapter with some final thoughts on this story** **and the journey of this endeavor overall. But for now, soak in this story's conclusion. And p** **lease don't forget to review to let me know what you thought of the story overall!**

* * *

 **LXV**

 _ **Epilogue**_

The sky was blanketed in thick, gray clouds, a storm brewing in the east and climbing through the mountains, threatening to descend upon the aged and historical Budapest. A young woman with long, chestnut hair fell to her knees before an elaborate tombstone, her fingers smoothing over the cool polished granite before they rested in her lap.

After placing two roses on the ground at the base of the grave marker, she sat back on her knees on the cold, damp earth. A few moments passed before she felt a warm hand rest on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I can't believe they're gone," she whispered, gazing up at the beautiful sculpture of a man and woman in their prime, holding one another, their eyes staring out towards the east where the mountains were.

"They're not really gone," the owner of the hand replied, a smile appearing on his face as he brushed some of his raven hair from his face. "They're still here, with us, right now."

"I miss them," another young man replied after a few moments in silence. His arms were tucked close to his chest in an effort to keep himself warm. Sitting down on an old stone bench, he stared out at an old ruined palace which was nestled comfortably below the graveyard.

"We all do," the young woman agreed as she moved to her feet only to be wrapped in the embrace of her older brother—the spitting image of his father. Tall, with dark, yet charming features, piercing blue eyes, and the same raven hair, only much shorter and more modernly cut. He rubbed the woman's arms fiercely in an effort to keep her warm as tears started to tumble down her cheeks.

"That elegy the reverend gave this morning was nice," she offered.

"Yes, but it didn't do them justice, Athee. Even _you_ know that," her younger brother answered, still sitting on the bench. "Actually, it kind of sucked. It would have been much better if it wasn't so fucking formal."

"Nicolae, your language," Athena chastised softly. A small curve appeared on Nicolae's lips.

"Yes _mother_ ," he teased, earning a chuckle from his older brother who still held Athena.

"Alright then Nicolae, if you didn't like the elegy, how would you have done it?" he asked.

Nicolae's mischievous smile disappeared as his face grew more serious… contemplative.

"I would have talk about how they met," he said.

"Which version? Grandpa Henry's or theirs?"

"I would have done theirs," Athena replied. "It's far more romantic."

"And far more entertaining, although I always got the impression that they weren't telling us everything," Nicolae added. "Don't you think so, Andrei?"

Andrei nodded as he released his younger sister from his hug, letting her wander around a bit.

"I would have talked about how much they loved each other, how having us never really did stop them from going at it all the time," he chuckled.

"Dad really couldn't keep his hands to himself. Even when they got old," Nicolae added, making a face. "Although it was kinda sweet how he was always holding her hand or maintaining some kind of physical contact with her…"

"Or saying 'I love you,' to her, every single day, especially if they got in a fight," Athena replied. "Which was few and far between."

"From what we know at least."

"I always wondered what Mom was referring to when she mentioned 'Vilkova' to him, when their debates got heated."

"Yeah, and how that always seemed to shut Dad up."

"And then an hour later they were totally fine."

"Oh come on, let's be honest. They solved nearly every argument they had with sex."

The three siblings all laughed together, continuing to reminisce a bit more.

"Do you remember the time mom went in for surgery a couple years ago?"

"And dad nearly killed that doctor because he refused to let him stay with her during the procedure? I think that was the one time I saw dad get furious, and I mean _really_ furious."

"No. You remember the time Mom took us to that conference in Paris with her after Grandpa Henry died and that Prichard fellow insulted her and Dad knocked him out?"

Laughter soon ensued.

"Mom was furious with him!" Athena laughed. "Do you remember the look on her face?"

"Do you remember the look on Dad's? And then his talk with us in the car afterwards?" Andrei asked.

"'Now children, remember, it is not proper to physically assault other people. The only time it's acceptable is if they insult your mother,'" Athena mimicked word for word. "Mom was so mad at him."

"Well, the guy had it coming and Dad, even in his old age, could still throw one hell of a punch."

"No one insulted Mom and got away with it."

"Yeah."

Silence.

"They really did love each other."

"I remember how Mom always hated going out to eat because the waitresses would always try to flirt with Dad."

"So she started requesting male waiters instead."

"I remember that too."

"Was it just me, or was the 'birds and the bees' talk with Mom and Dad awkward as hell?"

"Oh my God! At least Dad didn't take you into his office, Athena! You got Mom to explain it to you."

"He's got a point. I remember when Dad 'called me into his office' and was seriously like, 'I don't understand why your mother doesn't do this. She's so much better at explaining it in a non-inappropriate way than I am.'"

"Yeah, well, by the time they got to _me,_ Dad just told me to ask my friends."

"He did?"

"Yep."

"Nicolae, you are so damn lucky."

"I don't know, I think it would have been entertaining watching Dad trying to give the sex talk."

Andrei's palm met his face and Athena chose that moment to change the subject.

"Do you remember the time they took us backpacking in Transylvania that one summer? And Dad showed us where he was born?"

"And then he told us all these stories about the Romanian wars against the Turks…as if he had been there!"

"He was always so good at telling stories. He made them seem so real."

"Like when we visited that tiny little village in the mountains – what was it called?"

"Visceria, I think?"

"Yes, that's it! Do you remember how they went on and on about that Valerious family?"

"As if they knew them personally."

"I personally loved Christmas time most. That's what I'll miss…"

"Mom's hot cocoa…"

"Dad letting us make s'mores in his office during conference calls…"

"Christmas parties."

"The huge tree that Dad always insisted we get and Mom always insisted we _not_ get."

"And then after putting up an amazing fight, a couple hours later after being alone with Dad, Mom would cave in."

…

"You know what I'll miss the most?"

"What?"

"Just having them there. Waking up and coming downstairs to see them in the morning at breakfast time… listening to Dad's lectures…"

"Which were legendary."

"Listening to Mom play the piano in the middle of the night."

"I don't know how we'll sleep now."

"Well, there was that CD she had made before she married Dad that the two of them used to listen to all the time."

"Yeah… it was like a tradition of theirs. Every wedding anniversary and then the anniversary of the day they met, they would listen to that CD."

"Yeah, I remember that. It was as if they were remembering something."

"Remembering what?"

"I suppose we'll never know."

"I guess not."

Thunder rumbled in the sky up ahead as it started to rain suddenly. The trio grew silent as they listened to the deluge, the thunder in the clouds, the water hitting the grass, dried leaves, and stone grave markers. Athena studied the statue of her mother and father holding one another and smiled as the rain placed a nice, glossy sheet of moisture on the already polished granite.

"They're happy," she said softly.

Andrei and Nicolae turned around and glanced back at the statue as well.

"Yes. They are," Andrei whispered. "They're together and that's all that matters."

"Do you suppose we'll see them again?" she asked her older brother.

"Yes, Athee. I think we will."

"We better get going before we get drenched. I keep hearing this area is infamous for its rain," Nicolae replied, taking out his large umbrella and shielding his older siblings.

After whispering their soft goodbyes, the grown children turned to make their way down the hill toward the parked town car in the empty lot, where they climbed in and drove away.

The torrential downpour continued as thunder rumbled in the sky. The sky grew darker and darker still, but for a single moment, the clouds broke and a small opening appeared as a pillar of sunshine bathed its path in a warm glow before disappearing once more.

The last place it touched was the fresh grave where Athena's two roses laid, soaked and beaten by the heavy drops of rain. But unlike the weather, they did not change; the two flowers remained intact, never separating in the blowing wind. When the rain turned to snow, the flowers froze, a thin veil of frost covering the crimson petals at the base of the marker, leading the eye to the carved lettering etched into the tombstone's face at the feet of the statue:

 _Hera Kali Drăculești née Garret – Born 1989, Died 2082.  
_ _Vladislaus Drăculești – Born 1422, Died 2082._

 _Here lies Hera and Vladislaus Drăculești: Spouses, Lovers, Companions, and the proud parents of Andrei, Athena, and Nicolae._

 _They died in each other's arms on November 13th, 2082._

 _..._

 _Know this, that death cannot stop true love, nor can time. It may delay, but it will never cease. A heart will always find its missing piece. A soul will always find its other half, just as you found me, just as I found you. We have conquered death. We have conquered time. Our love does not die with us, but it lives on in our children, in our memory, and in the eyes of the all-merciful God._

 _..._

Time had not claimed them, nor would death. Their love would continue on, no matter what the storybooks said. Their love, their story, would become history, but even that wouldn't matter.

For history, as it is written, isn't always accurate.

Things are never quite as they seem.

After all, in the end, what is history, what are stories, but ink on a page?

 _..._

 _The End_

* * *

 **My dearest readers,**

 **What a tumultuous journey this has been!**

 **When I first began to revamp** _Ink on a Page_ **, I remember telling my beta how fearful I was that no one would remember or care about this story getting resurrected, that the vast majority of its original fans were long gone, save a few, and there just weren't enough readers in the Van Helsing category anymore for it to make a difference. But she assured me** (and continued to reassure me) **that my fears were unfounded. I never dreamed I'd have the opportunity to revisit this story and though this revamp project has admittedly taken a lot out of me, I am _so_ grateful I did this. Not only am I extremely pleased with how this story turned out and completely humbled by your response to it, but this has been** (and continues to be) **a huge learning experience for me. **

**I wanted to take a moment to thank those of you who offered praise as well as constructive criticism. I am learning and still continuing to learn as I write more and more and I know that the advice offered by those who took the time will only help in improving my writing as I pursue future projects** (like _Eternal Night_ ). **Having one's work critiqued or picked apart is never an easy thing - if I'm honest, my personality type is such that I often take any kind of criticism very personally - but I will be forever indebted to those of you who offered your advice and criticisms with kindness and tact** (which is a rarity on this site, unfortunately) **. I owe you so much for your generosity and faith in my abilities and I will never be able to thank you enough.**

 _Ink on a Page_ **has a magic to it that, as its writer, not even I fully understand. I'm not quite sure why this story speaks to people in the way that it does, why so many have continued to gravitate towards it over the years – but whatever the reason, I hope you know how totally flattered and humbled I feel by your collective response. Your support has been absolutely mind-blowing, and forgive me if this sounds trite, but I feel so blessed to have received the approval of so many of you.** **It warms my heart to know that several of you in particular have come to possess such an emotional connection to this story, and I can't thank you enough for proving that time and time again in your reviews. You know who you are.**

 **There is no better gift that you could have given me outside of your honest feedback, and when I requested yours, a lot of you really came through. You guys have gotten me through some very difficult moments this year with your consistent positivity and kindness and I seriously cannot thank you enough. Your reviews were always, and will undoubtedly forever remain, the highlight of my day.**

 **Thank you again to all of those read, favorited, followed, reviewed, and recommended this story. And an even bigger thank you to my marvelous beta,** Sleepy Bibliophile **. This story would not have happened without you, my dearest friend, and I can't thank you enough for all of your help. Here's to whatever comes next** **and all the growth and learning that I'm certain will take place.**

 **Until next time, my friends,  
T**


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